In Justice
by middlewife
Summary: Reeling from a sudden and inconceivable loss, Bella Swan struggles to make sense of it. Convinced all is not as it seems, her search for answers uncovers a far darker instability than ever anticipated.
1. Bad Hair Day

**Hello, intrepid readers! I missed you all so much I decided to come back for more. Thanks for giving me the courage to keep going.**

**Thanks to the lovely ladies from Project Team Beta once again for their guidance and technical support. This chapter was beta'd by BigBlueBoat and MissAnnBlack.**

**Hugs and kisses for my pre-reader, Shazzio, who held my hand and gave me invaluable feedback.**

**WARNING: This work of fiction makes references to sensitive and controversial subject matter including domestic abuse, character death and suicide. While all care has been taken not to trivialize these topics, please don't read if doing so will cause distress.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1-Bad hair day<strong>

"Beeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep," the alarm screeched unwaveringly. With a groan, I rolled over and hit the button that exchanged the annoying noise for the less jarring sounds of the radio. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, focusing on the lyrics of the song currently playing. It had become my superstitious habit to pay attention to the first words I heard in the morning, a ritual kind of horoscope of my day.

_There's never a right time to say goodbye  
>But I gotta make the first move<br>'Cause if I don't you gonna start hating me  
>Cause I really don't feel the way I once felt about you<br>Girl it's not you, it's me_

Moving with a speed I never realized I possessed, I forcefully yanked the ancient clock radio off my nightstand, the trailing electrical cord pulled tight enough to offer a token resistance before being ripped from the wall socket. Stalking over to the window, I wrestled the ancient wooden sash upward and tossed the offending item out onto the grass seven feet below.

"Fuck Chris Brown and his goodbyes!" I muttered as I stomped out of my room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Stripping off my pajamas with agitated hands, I tossed them into the waiting hamper before turning on the shower. When the water was warm enough, I stepped under the spray, quickly lathering up my hair with shampoo. I had just tilted my head back to rinse the suds out when the hot water abruptly cut out, the ice cold needles making my wet skin prickle with goose flesh as I shrieked with the shock of it.

"What the…Alice!"

I braved the frigid water long enough to sluice the froth from my hair. Turning the shower off, I briskly dried myself off before wrapping a towel around my head like a turban. Shrugging on a bathrobe, I stalked downstairs to the kitchen. At the stove, a petite woman stood wearing purple _My Little Pony_ pajamas, stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.

"Morning, sunshine," she trilled without turning around. "Don't have a meltdown, but we're out of coffee. We're out of quite a few things actually. Someone needs to make a trip to the market."

This was not what I needed to hear. I desperately needed my morning caffeine hit to start the day. My temper ramped up a notch.

"The hot water ran out. Again! I didn't even get to put conditioner in, and you _know_ what my hair is going to look like now," I seethed through clenched teeth.

Alice turned around to stare at me, her huge brown eyes trying to beguile me with a puppy dog expression.

"I didn't use it all, I swear. I had a really short shower, honest! I just came down to make breakfast and put on a load of laundry…" Her voice petered out as she realized her mistake. "Shit, Bella. I'm sorry. I know you've told me a million times to put the washer onto cold, but I keep forgetting. You want me to help you comb the knots out?"

I accepted her apology with poor grace, sitting myself at the table and telling her we'd eat first. After breakfast, Alice followed me up to my room. As I mumbled oaths, she carefully unsnarled the birds nest on top of my head. I sighed as I surveyed the finished result. There was no use trying to do anything fancy with it, since my long brown hair would dry frowsy and dull without the taming effects of conditioner. I twisted it up and secured it with a banana clip, just wanting to get it out of my way. Alice left to get dressed, and within ten minutes we were on our way to work.

When I pulled my van into the parking lot in front of the large clinic building, I noted with narrowed eyes a large shiny black Escalade and matching horse trailer parked across four slots reserved for employees. I groaned in resignation.

"Don't tell me that freaking Denali cow is booked in today."

"Not the cow," Alice sighed. "Tanya is bringing in Irina."

Grumbling about the further downturn of my day, I parked in the outermost corner of the lot. As we entered the clinic and put our bags in the small employee lounge, a sunny voice called out in greeting, before the owner strolled in from the adjoining kitchen smiling. I smiled back in return, never able to take my bad mood out on the tall, attractive, blonde man who stood before me.

"Hi, Dad," Alice replied, giving Carlisle a brief hug before disappearing into the clinic area.

"Morning, Doc. No suit today?" I asked.

Looking down at his faded and worn coveralls, his smile turned into a grimace. "No use wearing fancy duds when you're just going to have your hand up various butts all day," he exclaimed. "Your Mom called already, Bella. You want to phone her back before we get started?"

I pulled a face before nodding. Finding an empty consulting room, I sat at the desk and dialed my mom's number as I attempted to sort through in my head what I wanted to say...or rather, not say. My mom had always had a knack of seeing straight through me and calling me out on my shit. I desperately wanted to avoid that at all costs at the moment, hence the reason I had been evading seeing her over the last few days. Consequently, using her inborn mommy intuition, she had been phoning me every day without fail to needle me.

"It's me," I stated, my voice flat and neutral.

"Did you talk to Sam last night?"

_Gesh, cut right to the chase. No "hi, honey," or pleasantries today._

"Can we not do this right now?" I whined like a twelve-year-old. "I've got three inseminations and a bunch of other stuff to do, and if I don't start soon, I'll be here all night."

"I know if we don't talk now, we won't talk at all. So, did you?"

"No, Mom. I, ah…had to work late. When I finished, he'd already left for basketball practice."

"Bella! You can't avoid the conversation forever. It's not right. You know something's going on. You have to find out what it is."

_Oh, I know what it is alright! _I felt the outrage and jealousy boil beneath my skin, making me lash out at the closest available target.

"Why can't you just leave it alone, Mom? You're one to talk! How about you try to sort your own life out before sticking your nose into mine."

"It's…my situation is different." Her voice became hallow-sounding. "There is a bit more a stake." She started to plead. "You're young. You and Sam are just starting out. There's still time to fix it if you try."

My anger escalated. "Yeah, I can see how trying hard is working for _you_. Is he still in the guest room, or has he moved out altogether?"

There was a long pause, and when she spoke again, I could hear the tears in her voice. "You don't want to end up like me, Bella. Talk to him, while you still have a chance." I could hear ice tinkling in a glass and the sound of her talking a long swallow of something, before she blew her nose.

"Are you…are you drinking?" I could barely keep the incredulity from my tone. I looked at the clock above the door. "It's just past eight! Where are the boys?"

Here I was at twenty-four years of age, discussing parental responsibility with my mother. My parents had divorced a long time ago. Mom had remarried, and now I had two step brothers, who were three and five.

"I just need a little starter to get me through. I'm only having one, I swear! Afton is on the bus already, and Phil's taking Corin to daycare. He…I…we had an arg−we had a _discussion_ this morning, and my nerves are a bit frayed."

I snorted loudly, not caring how rude I was being.

"Look, Mom, I appreciate your concern and all, but I don't need it. You're a fine one to be giving _me_ relationship advice. Next time, call me when you're sober!" I hung up with a petty sense of satisfaction. I tried to preserve my sanctimonious rage toward my out-of-control mother, lest her very valid points actually take root in my overloaded brain.

My day didn't get any better.

I worked as a veterinary technician in the biggest and busiest veterinary practice in Clallam County. Hoof's and Woof's was owned by my aunt and uncle, Esme and Carlisle Cullen, who were both veterinarians. Carlisle specialized in equine medicine, and the clinic had a purpose-built operating theater and laboratory to cater to any sort of treatment a horse might need. My cousin, Alice, was a chiropractor and acupuncturist. Although she, too, preferred horses, Alice had recently branched out to dogs, mostly racing greyhounds. My aunt and Dr. Snow looked after all other manner of animals that passed through our doors.

Tanya Denali had brought her prize-winning mare, Irina, in for artificial insemination. When owners decided to breed valuable and highly prized bloodstock, they often didn't want to risk potential injury to their mare by allowing a stallion to serve her the old-fashioned way. Normally, insemination was a relatively quick and painless procedure for the horse. Irina, like her owner, had a moody and vicious streak. She had tried to bite me several times and succeeded once−since Tanya refused to allow me to restrain her in any way−and had managed to stomp on my toes a few times as she danced away from my gloved arm. In the end, I had gotten one of the vet assistants to hold her properly so I could get the job done. Irina had succeeded in crapping all over me as I bent to prepare the long embryo-laden pipette for insertion.

I got vomited on by a dog, peed on by an incontinent ancient tabby, cussed at by an irate owner who wanted to quibble over the bill, and bit by a goose with a sore wing. Geese might not have teeth, but what they lacked in molars, they made up for in attitude and strength. Holding onto one was like wrestling with a bag of snakes. It seemed every cage I had to clean was covered in every type of smelly and disgusting body fluid an animal could emit. I hadn't had a work day this bad in…forever.

I managed to leave for a while to grab a late lunch, only to return to find a parking ticket taped to the windshield of my van. My mood became blacker by the minute. When I went back to the clinic, it was to learn that I had drawn the short straw to help euthanize Mrs. Cope's beloved pet, Chester. Chester was a Chihuahua who was blind, deaf, and arthritic. His cossetted and pampered lifestyle made him last to the ripe old age of thirteen. When Mrs. Cope went to take him out for his morning tinkle, she found his back legs were paralyzed. The arthritis had caused his spine to degenerate so badly that the poor dog couldn't move anything, an affliction that was irreversible. Mrs. Cope herself was doddery and ancient, a widow who had no children. Just Chester. Although she knew it was the most humane thing to do, the poor old dear had a hard time letting him go.

When I finally left work, I was smelly, weary, foot-sore, and bruised. My anger had left me while Mrs. Cope's tears had soaked into my shirt. I didn't even feel annoyed when I got caught in municipal road works on the way home, resigned that the day was almost over. I consoled myself with thoughts that I would soon be safe at home where further disasters were unlikely to find me. Alice had gone to her parents for supper, so I was on my own. I pulled the van into the garage behind the house with a sigh of relief. I felt completely drained, my bedraggled and careworn appearance matching my mood. I trudged to the back door, looking forward to nothing more than sprawling on the sofa and watching some mind-numbing TV show with a frozen dinner-for-one.

Sitting on the stoop was Sam.

I stopped in my tracks, wishing I had seen his car before I parked. I looked around, and not seeing his pick-up anywhere, realized that he had known I was avoiding him and had either walked or parked elsewhere to stop me from bolting.

"Bella, we need to talk." His face was a carefully blank mask, but the waver in his voice and the resolve in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"I'm sorry I've we haven't been able spend much time together the last few nights," I babbled nervously. "I've been−"

Sam cut me off with an impatient wave. "I know you've been dodging me for the last few days, but I've been avoiding you, too. The truth is I've been putting this off for too long. Just let me get it off my chest before I lose my nerve."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as my heart started thudding in my chest.

"What we had has been good, and I'll always love you but things have changed. _I've_ changed." He stood up and jammed his hands in his pockets. "I can't be with you like this anymore, Bella. I'm really sorry."

The growing wave of emotion building in me as he uttered each word threatened to spill forth. "Why?" I demanded, sounding desperate. "Is it something I did, because you know I can change−"

He interrupted me, cutting me off again.

"It's not you, Bella. I…I met…there is this other…" He gave up his stuttered speech, and all his resolve seemed to leave him at once. His breath left him in a big huff and he flopped back down on the stoop, his head buried in his hands. "I didn't plan for it to happen; you gotta believe me! I just…met someone else." He scrubbed his hands wearily over his face.

I stood rigid in the same position, staring at him, not daring to move, breathe or think.

"Nothing has happened yet. I couldn't do that to her. I didn't want to be a complete bastard and a cheater. She deserves so much more, so I've got to do the right thing."

I stiffened, stuck by the passion in his voice−passion for someone else, a depth of emotion I had never seen him display before. My deepest, most secret fear had been recognized. He had only known her for such a short time, yet he already loved her more than he ever had me. All the arguments I had prepared in my head for this very moment fled, leaving me empty and bereft.

"Whatever we had is over, Bella. I'm really sorry to do this to you, and I want you to know it's not your fault." He got up again, walked down the three steps and came toward me. Resting his hands on either side of my upper arms, he bent to lay a gentle kiss on my forehead. "I'm sorry. I hope in time you can forgive me."

I stood rooted to the spot, as stiff as if my body were carved in stone as he walked away from me forever. I barely heard the sound of his car's engine starting and then receding as he drove away. I stood in the fading dusk light for some interminable amount of time turning over each word he had said, obsessively examining each nuance and impression.

When I finally moved, I saw he had left a cardboard box near the door. I hadn't noticed it earlier, focused as I had been on the inevitability of how Sam was going to discard me. I picked it up, unlocked the back door and went into the kitchen. The box contained every item of mine that had been at his house: my toothbrush, a small stack of neatly folded clean underwear, a few paperbacks, and some flip-flops. Wrapped carefully in a long piece of paper towel, I found some snapshots and a framed photo of the two of us together. It used to sit on his nightstand, a gift I had given him last Christmas. Dropping it back in the box, I rushed upstairs to turn on my laptop, waiting impatiently for the seventy-five seconds the machine needed to boot up and load Facebook. I tried to view his home page, but got the automated message that he didn't share his information with everyone, and if I knew him, to add him as a friend.

_He had de-friended me!_

I logged onto Alice's Facebook profile and read the numerous updates. Scrolling down, I saw what I was looking for. Sam Uley, relationship status change−now single.

_Son of a−_

Digging into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and tried dialing his cell number. I got another automated answer from a recorded message, telling me that the number was out of service.

That's when it became real. He had completely amputated me from his life.

I stood up in a daze, finding myself in the kitchen without any memory of walking down the stairs. I opened the freezer. No Ben and Jerry's.

_That did it; my life had officially gone to shit in every way_.

I felt the tears leaking from my eyes, tickling on their way over my chin and down my neck. I let them fall unchecked as I opened the fridge door and then went through the cupboards searching for solace. Finding a block of Hershey's hidden on a top shelf, I pulled it down from Alice's hiding spot before grabbing a bottle of wine and headed upstairs to the bathroom. Hoping that our ancient hot water heater had had sufficient time to replenish itself over the day, I started running a bath. My first break of the day came as piping hot water flowed out of the faucet. Dropping my smelly and stained clothes to the floor, I climbed in the bath as it continued to fill.

I don't know how long I had sat there for, but when Alice arrived home and interrupted my weepy wallowing, it was dark, the bath water was cold, and both the wine and the chocolate were long gone. I barely listened as she scolded me, dragging me out of the tub and into my room. She dried me off briskly before shoving me into bed, thoughtfully putting a bucket on the floor next to the side of my pillow.

As my drunken thoughts fragmented and I drifted off to sleep, my last coherent thought was that after the shitty day I'd had, things could only get better…


	2. Untimely End

**Many thanks to TDS88 and CapriciousC from Project Team Beta for their services and comments.**

**Kisses again to my lovely pre-reader Shazzio, whose suggestions add that little bit more.**

**Huge thank-you's also to Bower-of-Bliss. Her eagle eyes never miss a trick. She also rec'd my one-shot "Slick Lovin'" in the lasest chapter of her drabble-ish fic, "Drowning, not waving." If you haven't read it, you don't know what you're missing! I guarantee you'll love ({'}) Libby.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2-Untimely end<strong>

"Beeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep."

Aliens were trying to use a hypersonic device to drill through my skull. I prayed that they would hurry up and complete the job, or at least sever my auditory nerve so I wouldn't have to put up with the noise anymore.

"Beeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep."

Annoying fucking aliens.

"Beeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep."

I cracked open a gummed-up eye, surprised to see the familiar surroundings of my room, rather than the futuristic laboratory that I had been expecting. I tried to remember what disturbed me.

"Beeeeep, beee−" I whacked the button on top of the radio, desperate to put an end to its incessant tinny whine. Flopping back onto the pillow, I tried to nudge my sluggish brain into action. I had a dull headache, and it felt as if something crawled into my mouth last night and died. My stomach felt decidedly seedy, and at the thought of breakfast, it gave a mutinous warning roil.

_Hangover. Figured._

I tried not to recall too much about yesterday. Except for my alarm−_didn't I toss that out?_ Alice must have rescued it, knowing how much I loved my dad's old cast-off. I listened to the lyrics of whatever song was playing. A new song had just started with a guitar lead-in, and then a raspy and pained male voice sang.

_Please come now I think I'm falling  
>I'm holding on to all I think is safe<br>It seems I found the road to nowhere  
>And I'm trying to escape<em>

Sitting up slowly and carefully to reduce the brain rattle, I reached over and turned it off. Too melancholy for…I looked at the glowing green numbers. It was seven a.m. I dragged myself to the bathroom, deliberately avoiding looking at my sorry visage. I swallowed down a couple of Tylenol before stepping in the shower. I couldn't be bothered making an effort with my appearance, so I tied my hair up in a tight top-knot and pulled a pair of coveralls on over a ratty t-shirt and jeans. As I sat at the table gingerly nibbling on a triangle of toast, my phone vibrated on the counter, still lying where I tossed it last night. When I looked at the caller ID, I saw it was my mom's home number. With a sigh, I braced myself and hastily prepared to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I began, wanting to say it first.

"I'm not Mommy," a small voice piped. "It's Afton, silly!"

"Hey, little brother. What are you doing on the phone at this time of the morning?"

I could hear loud wailing in the background.

"Mommy's sleeping and Corin's crying because there's no oatmeal. I tried to make him cereal, but he wants Mommy's oatmeal instead. Can you come and make him some?"

I frowned. Mom should have been busy getting the boys ready for their day. Afton would never make the bus at this rate. Then again, I remembered that this time yesterday, my mom already had a drink in hand and I wondered. I hoped she hadn't passed out with the boys in the house. My anger flared to life again, and I grabbed my keys, telling Afton I'd be right over. I really needed to talk some sense into my mother, my own problems forgotten as my anger simmered the whole ten minutes it took to drive over to her house.

Mom and Phil lived in a large two-story home in Bell Hill, one of the nicer residential areas. The house was attractive and well-designed, and had the advantage of being situated in a quiet cul-de-sac right next to a small park. Phil was a realtor, and he and his partner owned a thriving business. Knowing where to find the perfect family home in the perfect location was one of the perks of the job, I supposed. I pulled my van up to the curb, noting that Phil's car was absent. The garage door was open, and Mom's SUV was the only car visible.

Going around the back, I pushed open the unlocked glass sliding door and was met by my two brothers, both still wearing their pajamas. Corin jumped up and down before throwing himself at my legs. I could see the still damp tear tracks on his cheeks, and he left a snail-trail of snot on my thigh from his runny nose.

"Bell Bell!" he yelled enthusiastically as Afton grabbed my hand and led me to the kitchen.

"Okay, okay. You monkeys hungry or something?" I teased.

The kitchen was a disaster zone. From the detritus strewn across the counter, I could see Afton had tried his best to manage on his own. Oats covered the countertop like confetti, the open box all but emptied. There was a huge puddle of milk dripping off the worktop onto the tiled floor, swimming with tri-colored Cheerios. The door to the microwave stood open, and I could see a misshapen, melted plastic bowl overflowing with some stodgy mess inside.

_Poor little guy tried his best,_ I thought as I sighed.

I sat them at the table, wiped Corin's face with a wad of tissues, and poured orange juice into their plastic Spiderman mugs. While they were busy drinking, I quickly snatched the half-full wine bottle that had been thoughtlessly left on the counter near the sink and shoved it out of sight in a cupboard before setting to work cleaning up and cooking oatmeal.

"So where's Mommy?" I asked carefully, not wanting to let the boys know how mad I was at their mother.

"She's sleeping on her bed. I tried to wake her up but she won't hear me," said Afton in a clearly slighted tone.

"What about Daddy? Was he here earlier?" I knew I was getting into dangerous territory, questioning Afton about his parents' movements. Mom had been adamant that the boys be kept oblivious to the current unrest between her and Phil.

"No, Daddy had a sleepover at Uncle Marcus' house last night." He pouted. "We wanted to go too, but he said we had to stay with Mommy. We never get to have sleepovers!"

"That's not true," I countered. "You both stayed with me and Alice the weekend before last."

"That was forever ago," Afton complained.

I suppose when you are only five, two weeks did seem like a long time ago. Taking two plastic bowls from the cupboard, I spooned the thick oatmeal in and added a drizzle of honey.

"Are you two going to behave yourselves for a minute while I go check on Mommy?"

With his overflowing spoon lifted halfway to his mouth, Corin nodded eagerly, always so willing to please.

"I'm a good boy, Bell Bell. I'm being haive."

Laughing, I ruffled his silky blond curls before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. It was unlike my mother to act so irresponsibly, but things had been difficult for her recently. She and Phil were having "issues," and her behavior of late had been all over the place.

Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, but I knocked on the jamb anyway, not wanting to invade her private space without some form of warning. My hangover-sensitive nose scrunched up instinctively in reaction to a faint smell. It was an odd odor, pungent and metallic. It was very quiet−too quiet. I pushed the door partially open and peered into the bedroom, my stomach again squirming and making warning noises as the odor intensified.

My mom was lying on her stomach diagonally across the bed, and she lay on top of the covers. She had obviously been too far gone with drink last night to put herself to bed properly. At least she wasn't naked. She was wearing scruffy sweat pants and a t-shirt that had seen better days. Her curly brown hair was an untidy mess and obscured her face. The nightstand near her outstretched hand was bare except for an empty wine glass and an un-capped pill bottle. I huffed in annoyance. I hadn't known my mother was on medication, but I was incensed that she mixed booze and drugs together, especially when she was supposed to be caring for the boys. Leaving medicine where they could reach it was courting danger, too.

I strode over to the bed and smacked her bare foot to wake her, too furious to be gentle or understanding. Her foot bounced lightly with the action and my body stilled completely as a thought struck me. I took a step back in my uncertainty as the cogs in my brain crunched and ground away. Suddenly, the engine in my head picked up pace as my heart started thundering in my chest. I felt my heart clench as the panic obliterated everything else. Mom's bare feet and arm looked so very pale in contrast to the deep sapphire blue of the coverlet, so pallid that they were almost a bluish-gray. Even from the small amount of our skin that touched during the briefest of contact, I registered that she felt cool−too cold. My eyes flicked over her back, desperately hoping to see what I missed in my haste the first time. I watched for what seemed like forever, but it was still not long enough to observe the desired movement.

My thoughts descended into a maelstrom of horror and everything receded into a haze. My back slammed into a hard surface, and my daze cleared enough for me to realize I had backed up and hit the wall near the still open door. I slid down to crouch on the floor, my chest heaving and my vision obscured by large fuzzy black spots. Vague sounds of high-pitched voices rising further in argument filtered into my consciousness, and the reminder of the presence of my baby brothers snapped me back to the present like a bucket of cold water. I reached out my hand and shut the door, hoping that they would not come up any time soon to investigate my prolonged absence. I pushed myself up on shaky legs, going around to the other nightstand to pick up the cordless phone. I punched in the three numbers with shaking hands.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" a patient woman's voice asked.

"I…ah…think I need an ambulance," I stuttered, sounding like a complete moron even to my own ears.

"Please state your address."

I recited it by rote, the words rolling off my tongue in a jumble.

"Please state the problem," the dispatcher asked.

"My mom…she's cold and not breathing." I heard the panic start to come through as my voice rose higher and higher. "I touched her…and nothing...she won't respond."

The woman quickly but calmly asked my name.

"Okay, Bella. I've dispatched an ambulance already and the police might also attend. I'm going to get you to check a few things for me while you're waiting for them to arrive. Can you do that?"

I nodded like an idiot, relieved that someone was going to tell me what to do, since my own usually rational brain had gone out on strike. Realizing she couldn't see me over the phone, I muttered my agreement.

In the same careful and composed voice, the dispatcher instructed me to put the phone on the speaker function and then talked me through checking for a pulse.

My hand shook as I reached out to move Mom's hair, needing to find the right spot on her neck to feel the carotid pulse. When I made tentative contact with her tangled locks, I drew back in alarm, examining my fingertips. Her hair felt as if it was misted with a greasy yet gritty substance, and looking at my fingers, I saw smudges of greyish-black. Steeling myself, I continued, carefully moving her hair over her shoulder.

"There's…some blood! Underneath her…Oh God!" I pulled my hand back, almost whimpering.

The dispatcher's voice echoed like a lifeline, drawing me back to the task at hand. I tried again, moving my fingers carefully over Mom's oddly-textured skin to make sure I had covered the carotid area properly, but found nothing. I replied robotically to the questions the dispatcher asked me after that, unable to take my eyes off my mother's motionless form on the bed. My mind was a vortex of shrieking questions−_how, when, why, why, WHY?_

When the dispatcher enquired about other occupants at our location, my mind immediately returned to my baby brothers, still downstairs on their own. She urged me to stay on the line and to go be with them while the responding team was in transit, so I turned off the speaker function and walked down the stairs with the phone pressed to my ear. My movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and my brain was coherent enough to recognize that I was beginning to feel the effects of shock setting in.

The boys had finished eating and were in the family room watching Disney's _Rio _for the ten-thousandth time_. _Afton looked up briefly in acknowledgement at my entry, but his eyes were soon glued back on the TV. The kind lady on the end of the phone kept up a steady stream of reassurance, asking me to respond every now and then to ensure I was still there.

After some indeterminate amount of time, I heard a knock at the front door. A sense of relief washed over me with the awareness that there would soon be other, more knowledgeable people here who would know what to do. I instructed the boys to stay put but they ignored me, completely entranced by the brightly flickering images on the large flat screen. The door swung open ponderously, and behind it, I saw two uniformed police officers regarding me with solemn faces. The nice dispatcher questioned me about who had arrived, and once aware that the necessary reinforcements had arrived, she gave me a few last words of encouragement before ending the call.

I stood on the threshold, listening to the policemen explain that they had been close by when the call had come over their radio. I pointed the wayand they jogged up the stairs without delay. It wasn't long before they returned, their pace much slower on the way downstairs and almost reluctant. I passively watched them as one of them spoke, listening but not really absorbing his apologetic speech. My brain had finally comprehended the hopelessness of the situation, and the numbness was eroded and replaced by too-brilliant clarity.

I could hear a siren wailing in the distance, announcing the imminent arrival of the ambulance. I knew its haste would be in vain. My mother was dead. No medics were going to rush upstairs with laden bags full of lifesaving technology to save her. She was beyond that now. Instead, they would be joining the other forerunners of the clean-up crew investigating the aftermath. She was really gone…

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><p><strong>Song: "One last breath" by Creed<strong>


	3. To add insult to injury

**Thank you to My-Heart-Of-Music and irelandk of Project Team Beta for their work on this chapter. Irelandk even read and reviewed the previous chapters. Thats dedication! Thanks also to all the PTB moderators who look over every chapter and add their expertise.**

**Cyber smoochies to my pre-reader, Shazzio, just because.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3-To Add Insult to Injury<strong>

The next hour passed in a blur of activity. I thought finding my mother was the worst experience of my life to date, but phoning my aunt Esme to tell her that her only sibling had unexpectedly passed away was infinitely worse. She wouldn't believe me at first, but as she became convinced of my sincerity, her words became so incoherent that I told her I would call Carlisle and send him to be with her.

They arrived at the same time Sam pulled up in his cruiser. I was sitting on the stairs near the front door. The boys were playing on the lawn, crawling around on the thick grass, still in their pajamas as they pushed various trucks and cars around. I had not wanted to stay in the house a moment longer, and one of the officers informed me that we would have to leave anyway, as the forensic team would soon arrive. The paramedics had left soon after establishing that their skills would not be required.

I pointedly ignored Sam as I walked over to meet Esme and Carlisle. Carlisle was clearly in shock, his face pale and his expression stunned. Esme was a complete mess, barely holding in the hysteria that threatened to break free. She threw herself at me and we embraced tightly, breaking apart only when I jumped, startled by the mournful sound of a dog howling. Edna, Esme's golden curly-haired retriever, was sitting in the back set of their car, her head poking through the open window and her nose pointed to the sky as she bayed. Edna was a trained therapy dog and had been Esme's shadow for the last five years. She clearly sensed the devastation and distress around her. Looking over Esme's shoulder, I watched as Afton opened the car door and let Edna out. She trotted mournfully behind him as he rejoined Corin, sitting as close to Afton as she could.

Carlisle hugged us both to his chest as he started peppering me with questions. In a low voice so the boys wouldn't overhear, I calmly stated what had happened.

"How?" was the only word Esme could choke out.

"I…don't know. The paramedics confirmed that she's…" I couldn't say the word out loud just yet. I swallowed the lump in my throat before continuing. "She has definitely…gone, but the police won't tell me anything else until the medical examiner arrives."

"What about Phil? Does he know yet?" Carlisle probed.

"The police were trying to contact him. As the spouse, he is her official next of kin," I explained. "I don't know where he is though, only that he hasn't arrived yet."

I felt something tugging on the baggy leg of my coverall.

"Why is Auntie Essie sad?" Corin asked me, his brow scrunched up with concern. It was one of the questions I had been dreading. I was surprised that so far, neither of them had asked about Mom or the officers, or questioned the two police cruisers parked out front. I didn't want to have to explain, thinking that it would be a job best saved for their father. Esme scooped him up, telling him the best way to make her feel better was for him to give her a big hug. An affectionate boy, he was only too happy to comply.

"I don't know what to do with the boys. I don't think they should be here when…" I couldn't force the words out.

"There are going to be people all over the house pretty soon," Carlisle began. "It might be best if we took them over to our place. I should talk to someone about getting some of their things." Giving us both a consoling pat, he walked toward the front door and spoke to the officer stationed just inside.

Esme stood clutching Corin to her chest, swaying in an unconscious soothing rocking motion while tears trickled non-stop down her face. I envied her in that moment, feeling all the pent-up emotion bottled within me without any sort of outlet. It all felt so surreal. It was as if I floated above myself, watching my physical body going through the motions and listening to words come out of my mouth at appropriate times, but not comprehending why it was all happening. My ethereal self was a mess of clashing and contradictory emotions.

After a while, Carlisle returned with two backpacks stuffed with clothes and toys. He put them in the trunk of the car before going into the garage to get the boy's booster seats out of Mom's SUV. Esme helped the boys pick up the toys off the lawn, putting them into the trunk too, as she told the boys they were coming home with her. They both cheered, more than happy to spend some time with their beloved aunt and uncle. Afton led Edna to the car without another word, clearly eager to be on their way. Esme grasped Corin's hand as they walked over but before she could reach the door, he stopped mid stride.

"I forgot to go kiss Mommy goodbye," he said in a plaintive voice.

We all fell silent, looking at each other wordlessly. Esme's tears overflowed again and Carlisle instantly moved to console her. I walked closer, and squatting down, ruffled his hair.

"When I went upstairs, Mommy wasn't very well." I looked into his big blue eyes and hated myself for misleading him, but felt it wasn't my place to break the news. "That's why I stayed, to look after you and Afton. I'm sure Mommy will understand if you go and play at Auntie Essie's and Uncle Carlisle's house. I'll stay here and take care of Mommy, okay?"

"Okay, Bell Bell. You give her a big smoochie for me."

I choked down a sob and stroked his cheek.

"I will," I promised as I hugged him. Going around to the other side, I kissed Afton as Esme strapped the boys into their seats. Carlisle offered to stay with me, but when I looked over to my distressed aunt, I urged him to go home with Esme. She clearly needed his presence and comfort more. He wrapped me in a final hug before getting in the driver's seat. Once the boys were secure, Esme threw herself at me again, violent sobs wracking her whole body. She tried several times to say something, but was unable to get the words out. I stroked along her back and hushed her, appreciating her intent but not willing to let go of the tight rein I held on my own emotions just yet.

As we broke apart, Sam emerged through the front door and made his way toward us.

"I'm so terribly sorry for your loss," he murmured quietly, looking from me to Esme. "I always liked Renee." He put a hand on my shoulder, but I recoiled from his touch, moving to put some distance between us. Turning to face me, his voice dropped even further. "I feel so bad about yesterday, Bella. If I had of known what was coming, I would have put it off."

I stepped further away from him, unable to bear his sympathy or sentiment.

"I'm sorry that my mother dying was so inconvenient and made you feel guilty." The tone of my voice might have been flat and listless, but inside, I could feel the anger boiling away again. "It's okay; you needn't worry on my account. I'm not your responsibility anymore."

I turned on my heel and stalked off without looking back, welcoming the burning wrath that distracted me from the greater pain that I had been desperately trying to deny or at least delay. Pausing briefly at my van to rifle through the glove compartment, I found what I wanted and stomped over the small park neighboring Mom's house. I dropped onto the first bench I saw that faced away from the house. With shaking hands, I pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack and lit it using the lighter that had been shoved inside. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the burn as the bitter smoke filled my lungs. Pulling my feet up to rest on the bench, I wrapped my arm around my bent knees in a futile attempt to hold myself together as I tried to puff my agitation away. I looked out over the park, watching birds hop over the lawn, grateful there was something to focus on other than my racing and bewildered thoughts.

"Have you got a spare I could bum?" A smooth voice interrupted my efforts to distract myself, and I jumped, startled yet again. I looked up, taking in the young man who stood a few feet to my right.

He was tall, and I found myself craning my neck to peer at his face. He was handsome and masculine, with a sharply chiseled jaw and angular but perfect features. His tousled hair was a brownish-auburn, and thick brows arched over the most astonishing green eyes I had ever seen.

_Trust a man to have prettier eyes than I've ever seen on any girl!_

With a shrug of my shoulders, I pushed the almost empty pack forward, encouraging him to help himself. His mouth quirked in an odd sort of half smile in response, drawing my attention to the soft curve of his full lips as he murmured his thanks. Picking up the pack, he carefully set down his laden backpack on the ground before sitting on the bench, leaving a respectable distance between us. He was wearing jeans and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I idly wondered if he was immune to the chill in the air. I watched the defined muscles in his forearms as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, my attention then engrossed by the pursing of his lips as he held the filtered tip between them. Realizing I was staring, I dragged my eyes away and went back to watching the birds scratching up their next meal.

"I hope I'm not taking the last of your fix," he said, the rich and smooth timbre of his voice catching my attention.

I shrugged again.

"I don't smoke that often," I replied, not even turning to look at him as I spoke. "I've had this pack in my van for at least six months. I usually only have one when I'm out with friends, socializing. Today, I'm just having…it's been…I'm a little stressed," I admitted. Unable or unwilling to elaborate further, I left my explanation at that.

I heard his dry chuckle and I turned to look at him, catching him cataloguing my coveralls and boots.

"Is this your first time attending to something like this?" he asked, pointing his thumb behind us in the direction of Mom's house. I nodded as his eyes met and captured mine.

I couldn't look away, caught in the brilliant green.

"Yeah. I have no idea what I should be doing or feeling," I blurted out, wondering why it was so easy to spill my innermost thoughts out to a complete stranger when I had not been able to do so with Esme or Carlisle.

"You're only human, it happens. I was lucky. My first time, I had a colleague with me. He kept talking to me about all kinds of drivel. It took my mind off the job for a little while." His brows furrowed in a deep frown. "Your partner shouldn't have left you to deal with this on your own."

"It's okay, really." I rushed in to reassure him, thinking that the last thing I needed was to deal with Sam and his pity and guilt. He had made it very clear he was no longer my partner in anything. "I don't need that big jerk and his condescension. I'm used to dealing with stuff on my own." I looked away again, trying to control the shaking of my hand as I raised my cigarette for another drag.

"Oh. Well, if you don't mind, I can distract you for a bit. I'm waiting for them back there, too. No one will be ready to talk to me for a while yet." He smiled again, and I found myself accepting his offer.

He told me about moving to the area eighteen months ago. He had been living in Chicago, but found the cutthroat competition at his previous employers was taking all the joy out of his job. Surmising that he was something to do with the forensic team one of the officers had mentioned earlier, I wondered how anyone could enjoy that line of work. I didn't interrupt him though, glad to listen to his melodic voice instead of my own inner one for a while. His college roommate had phoned and offered him a job with more scope, responsibility, and autonomy, and he had accepted immediately. I watched his face as he spoke, telling me how he had fallen in love with the natural beauty of the region, and how he had subsequently spent hours photographing wildlife and scenery merely for his own pleasure, rather than for the presets of his job. I was mesmerized by his animation, forgetting everything around me, listening raptly to his narration.

The spell was rudely broken by the heavy thrum of an engine as it roared up the street. Recognizing the sound, or rather, identifying whose car was approaching, I stood, striding over to the nearby garbage can. I discarded my spent cigarette butt, long since burned down while I had been entranced by the man on the bench. He followed, checking his own cigarette was dead before tossing it in after mine.

"Sorry, but that's my cue to go back." Brushing my hands off on my thighs, I could feel the tight tension returning to my shoulders, having been so engrossed by my companion that I hadn't even been consciously aware of how his presence had relaxed me. I looked at him earnestly.

"Thanks..." I looked to him in question.

His hands flew up to bury themselves in his hair. "I'm an idiot. It's Edward," he said apologetically.

"Bella," I offered in return. "I really needed that bit of reprieve, and I appreciate your efforts to take my mind off things."

Edward bowed low in a quaint gentlemanly gesture as I smiled slightly in response.

"The pleasure was all mine," he assured me, as I turned to head back toward the house.

As I entered the front yard, Phil was just climbing out of the low front seat of his ostentatious sports car. There were other cars and several unmarked white vans, almost identical to mine, parked in the driveway and on the street. Phil was dressed in a suit, but his tie had been loosened and his top button undone. His thinning blond hair was arranged in its customary conservative style. Phil ignored me completely as usual as he strode over to the officer stationed in front of the open main entry to the house.

"I need to speak to the officer in charge about my wife," he demanded, craning to peer around the officer at the activity going on inside. The officer turned enough to call out over his shoulder, but did not relinquish his position barring entry. A huge man with broad shoulders emerged, and pushing the younger officer aside, he stood on the front steps facing Phil. His uniform clearly identified him as the chief of police. At six-foot-six or seven, he towered over Phil, who was only of average height at just under five-foot-ten.

"I'm Felix Cudmore, Chief of Port Angeles police. You must be Mr. Dwyer." He removed his hat and extended his hand.

Ignoring the gesture, Phil puffed out his chest. "What's going on here? Why are all these people in my house?"

"We've been trying to contact you for the last two hours," Felix replied in a calm voice, retracting his hand as he frowned. "I've spoken to your office girl, left numerous messages on your cell, and sent officers to track you down."

"I'm a busy man with a business to run. Now what's this about my wife?"

Felix's eyes flickered over to me. Since he was Sam's boss, we had known each other for a while on a casual basis. I had attended several social functions for Sam's work as his date. He sent me a brief apologetic look and I found my body tensing further.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, but your wife was found deceased this morning."

"I'm aware of that," Phil barked in reply. "One of your lackeys cornered me at the open house I was conducting. When can I go inside? There are some important things I need to collect."

I felt my body go rigid as I listened, stunned.

Felix's frown deepened. "Your sister-in-law has already collected the children and taken them to her home."

"Oh. That's good, but I wasn't talking about the boys. I need some documents that were stored in our bedroom." Phil's voice was beginning to sound more and more annoyed, and I could see Felix was looking concerned.

"I know this must have come as a terrible shock, Mr. Dwyer," Felix said in a low voice. "The forensic team is inside, and I'm afraid you won't be able to go in until they complete their work."

"It's not that much of a surprise, to be brutally honest. My wife had been under a lot of strain recently. She had _mental health issues_," Phil explained, stressing the words to make his meaning clear. "I'm assuming she did something to harm herself? She'd been threatening it every time I tried to discuss divorce with her."

I gasped, a new pain and further shock lancing trough me. I felt that strange haze from before descend, and once again I felt as if I was above myself, watching while I went through the motions of acting normally.

I watched as Felix's mouth tightened. He picked his words carefully. "It seems your wife died of a single gunshot wound to the head. A weapon was found underneath her. We found some medication and alcohol close by, and there were no signs of a struggle. The wound may or may not be self-inflicted. That is for the medical examiner to decide. He is up there inspecting the scene now." Turning away from Phil, he hurried over to me, putting an arm loosely around my shoulders as he steered me over to my van. Opening the passenger-side door, he pushed me gently onto the seat.

"Bella, I'm so sorry you had to hear the news like that, but you needed to know." He peered at me closely. "Are you going to pass out on me? You look awfully pale."

"I'm…I'm okay…I think. It's all been just a terrible…I can't believe this has happened." I stared straight ahead, knowing if I saw the pity on his face that it would be the end of my self-restraint.

"Is there someone I can call for you? You should really have someone with you right now. I can get Sam," he offered in a kind voice.

The panic surged and before I knew it, I was begging. "No, no, no, you can't do that. We broke up…yesterday." I looked over to the house briefly, ignoring his embarrassed apology before focusing my eyes out through the windscreen again. "I'll be okay, Felix. What will happen now? With my mom, I mean."

"Once the medical examiner has finished his examination here, your mom will be taken to the county coroners, and an autopsy will be performed," he explained, his voice compassionate and calm.

"Oh," was the only answer I could give, horrified.

"They have to, Bella. They have to investigate this properly, even if it turns out your mom really did commit suicide."

"Was there a note?" I asked, thinking that if she had indeed ended her life, at least she might have explained why.

"No, we haven't found one, but that in itself is not an indication of anything," Felix clarified. "Less than half of people committing suicide leave a message behind."

I just sat there, my mind blank and my body numb. After a while, Felix asked me again if there was anything he could do for me, since he had to go back inside soon and check how things were progressing. I waved him away, leaning my head back into the headrest and closing my eyes. I didn't think of Phil or what he was doing outside. I didn't spare a thought for my brother's or my aunt and other family. I thought about my mom, going through every conversation we had recently, critically examining every puzzle piece of her behavior in the light of what had occurred upstairs. I kept coming back to the argument we had on the phone yesterday and how rude I was. Mom was just trying to help me out, to offer me some advice and perspective from her own experiences. My bitterness had made me act in an unnecessarily cruel manner. Looking back, I was ashamed of myself.

Had my insensitive behavior been the final straw? Had I contributed to her doing…that?

Thoughts and recriminations circled round and round in my head until I thought I would go insane. I needed something to distract myself again, something to help pull the cloak of numbness back over my naked feelings. I got out of my van and closed the door, instantly alert to the change in activity in the yard. One of the white vans in the driveway had its rear doors open, and all the other cars parked in front of it had been moved. Several people stood on the sidewalk and on the lawn close to the road. Some of them I recognized; neighbors I had met in Moms kitchen or at the boys' birthday parties. Others I did not know, uncertain if they had a role here or were merely spectators.

The front door opened and a man in navy coveralls similar to my own backed out. On his hands he wore bright blue gloves and he pulled a wheeled trolley carefully through the doorway. On the trolley was a large black bag which covered the form of my mother. My hand flew to my chest as the entirety of the trolley and another attendant emerged through the doorway. I watched as they awkwardly maneuvered their burden down the three broad stairs to the path below. It was quiet, is if every living thing held its breath in respect for this mournful and solemn moment. I couldn't take my eyes off the bag which shrouded her from me, thinking about what she looked like under there and where she would be going from here. I moved closer and reached out, wanting to touch her, to bestow some form of comfort, obsessed by thoughts of her being alone in a scary and foreign place.

Suddenly, a bright flash reflected off the black bag and temporarily blinded me, ruining the respectful atmosphere. I looked up, my overloaded mind whirling with rage that some interloper dared interrupt and try to take the last shred of dignity the staff had attempted to give my mother. When my vision cleared, I saw two men holding cameras, clearly journalists, and one standing closer than the other. I fixed my gaze on him, directing all the pent up emotion into my enraged death glare.

The eyes widened, the blazing green flashing with something as his mouth opened.

It was Edward.

"I'm so sorry, Bella. I didn't realize…I thought you were one of the coroner's attendants…"

I launched myself at him, raining blows down on his chest as he tried to grab my wrists.

"You vulture," I screeched at the top of my lungs. "You were just nice to me so you get a story!" I pummeled away, half my blows ineffectively bouncing of the hard planes of his chest. "Feeding off the misery of other−"

My breath whooshed out of me as a firm arm wrapped around my middle and yanked. I was dragged a few feet away, spitting oaths and accusations as Edward stared at me with sorry and hurt eyes.

"That's my mother!" I yelled in an anguished voice, fighting against the arms as they held and contained my flailing arms, my vision obscured by my hair as it flopped around my face with my frenzied struggle. Recognizing the scent of the man who held me, I went completely still, panting as I fought to rein myself in.

"Get your hands off me, you bastard!" I hissed lowly through clenched teeth. "You don't want me anymore. That means you gave up every right to ever lay a finger on me again!"

The pressure around me eased as Sam relaxed his hold on me. I jerked out of his grasp, crumpling to the lawn as all the fight left me. I saw Edward make a move toward me, his hand reaching out and his mouth opening as if getting ready to speak. I flinched away and he halted his movements, uncertainty clear on his face.

"Bella!" a high feminine voice shouted.

I looked up to catch sight of Alice as she dashed toward me. In a blur of action, she hurled herself at me, her arms crushing me in a fierce hug. Even though she was small in stature, it seemed she surrounded me totally, murmuring soft reassurances in my ear, grounding and calming me. She helped me to stand, and hugging tightly, we watched as the attendants loaded my mother into the back of the waiting van. Once it pulled out of the driveway, she led me to her car, tucked me carefully inside and even buckled my seatbelt for me, before driving me away.


	4. Vexed Question

**Thank you to the girls from Project Team Beta. Remylebeauishot, I really appreciated your personal comments along with the comma correction. Irelandk, thanks for the pm's and I'm really happy you're going to be sticking around.**

**Thanks also to my pre-reader, Shazzio. Shaz, your little insights and ideas make a world of difference :)**

**I'm also indebted to my fairy/beta godmother, Bower-of-Bliss. **

**Before you read on, I must state for the record that I do spend a lot of time researching background information for this story. Death is a sensitive topic, and suicide is considered by many to be even more of a taboo. I have also consulted with a paediatric psychologist and other mental health professionals. Whether or not you agree with the approach Bella takes with her brothers in this chapter, this is what the professionals recommend.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4-Vexed question<strong>

Alice and I drove over to her parents' house. I wanted to be close to my brothers and the support of Esme and Carlisle, needing to be surrounded by my family.

When we arrived, the adults gathered in the kitchen as I recounted what had happened back at Mom's after they left, leaving out my own mortifying mini-meltdown.

"Bella, your mom had been struggling with depression for a while." Esme reached out her hand to hold mine. "You know she and Phil had been fighting a lot lately."

"I knew about that," I confirmed. "She gets so teary so quickly these days. She's also been drinking more, even when she had the boys." I couldn't help but talk about her in the present tense. "There were some pills in her room; I saw them on her nightstand."

"She just started taking some anti-anxiety medication," Esme verified.

"Still, I can't believe she would do _that, _though." Even thinking the word "suicide" was agonizing. "I knew she was unhappy and stressed, but I had no idea she thought it was bad enough to…end everything. Even if things _were _going bad between her and Phil, she had survived through it before with Charlie. I can't believe she would do that to the boys…to me." I had to look away then, bewildered and overwhelmed by feelings of disbelief and anguish. It was all too much to comprehend.

"Who knows what she was thinking, Bella," Carlisle pointed out. "If she mixed alcohol with medication, she may not have been thinking very clearly at all." He sighed and, in a world-weary gesture, rubbed his hands over his face. "Your mom always regretted giving up on her first marriage so quickly. I think she felt a real sense of failure that things between her and Phil had deteriorated so much. She asked him to go to counseling to deal with his possessiveness and jealousy, but he refused. She told us she felt suffocated by his need to know where she was all the time. Most of all, I think she felt she had no control or input into their lives anymore. Everything was always all about Phil."

I laughed, my bitterness clear. "It always has been. I find it ironic that the things she used to love about him most, and that drove me crazy, did the same to her in the end. She always put him first." I looked over to Carlisle. "You two seem to know a lot about what was going on between them."

Carlisle nodded sadly. "Renee was forced to confide in us after she decided that there was no hope of salvaging their marriage."

"She…she asked for a divorce after…" Esme added, her face twisting in grief as a fresh surge of tears spilled over her lids. "Oh, Bella, I don't know how to tell you this, since we promised Renee that we would never break her confidence, but now isn't the time for secrets. He…he hit her, 'slapped her' was how she put it, the very first time she told him their marriage was over."

I was appalled. "When?" I tried to think back, to recall any time she had seemed more upset than any other, but it seemed she had been miserable for such a long time.

"Remember our Fourth of July barbeque and how angry Phil got when your mom chatted with my golf partner?" Carlisle asked. "They fought about it in the car on the way home. She told him she had enough of his suspicion and accusations and wanted a divorce. He pushed her, and when she shoved back at him, he struck her. She said he seemed to immediately realize he had crossed the line. As soon as they got home, she left him there and came back to our place. She and the boys stayed with us for the night."

"Were the boys in the car when it happened?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Esme nodded. "Corin was asleep, but Renee said Afton saw the whole thing."

I couldn't wrap my head around it. My mom had never even intimated such a thing had happened. Afton had never said anything either, which was also odd. In his childish innocence, he usually couldn't help but spill all kinds of things I'm sure his parents would rather he kept to himself. I'll never forget the time he told me had had gone into his parents room early one morning and found them "bouncing" in bed. He had been very indignant about it, since he got scolded whenever he jumped on his brother or his bed.

I started thinking about timing. It was August before I had realized Mom and Phil were sleeping in separate rooms, but this was October. She had stayed with him months after he had raised a hand to her, something she always swore she or any other woman should never put up with. I looked over at Alice. She looked as aghast as I felt, so I knew she, too, had been kept in the dark.

"Phil told Felix that he had asked _her_ for a divorce. She only told me that they were having some problems they were trying to work out. I got the feeling that she was doing it more for the sake of the boys than for herself, though," I pondered.

"Apparently, Phil resisted the idea of separating every time she brought it up. He kept saying that she was his and she couldn't take his sons away from him. He told her he would fight her for custody and the house, and that she would end up paying _him_ alimony," Esme revealed. "Renee went to see a lawyer last month, but then something happened, and the lawyer said her case wasn't as strong anymore. That's when she started staying in more and had trouble sleeping."

"That makes sense. I think that's when she started drinking more, too." I fidgeted with my coffee cup, too keyed up to risk caffeine, but grateful to have something to occupy my hands. "Do you know what it was that made the lawyer say that?"

Esme and Carlisle looked at each other, sharing a silent communication. Carlisle nodded slightly, and Esme took a deep breath before turning back to me.

"She wouldn't tell me all the details, but she said she might have to deal with a disciplinary matter at work, something that could potentially get her fired."

"It must have been something really serious if it could have an effect on her getting custody of the boys," I pointed out.

Mom worked one night a week at the community college teaching remedial English. She always wanted to take on more classes, but Phil didn't like her working. He would often tell her that her place was looking after him and the boys.

"So she wanted to leave Phil but was worried that there could be a messy court case that she might potentially lose? No wonder she was upset. Why didn't she tell me?" I asked plaintively.

Alice reached out for my hand as Esme took the other.

"Oh, Bella. She didn't want to burden you with her worries, and I think she was ashamed that she wasn't dealing with things well. She only told me the bare minimum to stop me nagging her when I got worried." Esme looked at me, her eyes brimming again as her bottom lip wobbled. "I thought the pills were helping. I forced her to go to see the doctor after she missed Corin's parent night at kindergarten. I backed off a little after she started the medication. I should have kept a closer eye on her."

I couldn't stand the thought of Esme blaming herself when she had only ever been kind and supportive to my mom. Unlike me.

"She called me yesterday. I was harsh and rude, a real bitch," I confessed. "She was only trying to give me some advice, but I hung up on her. I'm an awful daughter," I choked out, feeling a lump in my throat that made it difficult to breathe.

Alice hugged me as Esme wept. Carlisle stood and came to lay his hand on my shoulder.

"Bella, as I said, we don't know what was going on in her mind. We have to wait until we hear more from the police before jumping to conclusions. Who knows? It might even have been an accident."

I knew he was just saying that to make me feel better. Who accidentally shoots themselves in the head?

"I didn't even know she had access to a gun," he continued, before looking at us one-by-one. "I know that the hardest part is not knowing exactly what happened and why. We just have to be patient and support each other and those poor boys until we know more. You had better call your father, Bella, unless you want me to do it?"

My heart stuttered in my chest. I hadn't even thought of my poor dad and how he would take the news. Although they had only had a brief marriage, my dad had held a torch for my mom for many years. He had remarried and loved his new wife with a quiet intensity, but I knew the news was going to upset him. As much as I wanted to duck this responsibility, I felt it was my duty to break the news myself, and I told Carlisle as much.

Needing some distance from everyone, I sat in Carlisle's study and summoned the necessary courage to tell my dad. I called his mobile, knowing he would be at work and probably out on the river. Dad worked as a ranger for the ecotourism business run by the Quileutes, who had a reservation near his home in Forks. His wife, Sue, was a Quileute elder. In as few words as I could, I let him know the sketchy details of what had happened. He, too, was disbelieving at first. It was awful hearing my usually stoic father trying to suppress his huffs of emotion during our call. He promised they would drive up as soon as they could.

I also sent an email to my friend, Rachel. We had been best friends since we were small. Although college and her work had put distance between us, we remained in constant contact. I was lucky to have two best friends, as Alice and I had grown closer since we started living together.

The afternoon passed in a haze of phone calls and visitors, the news spreading fast and seeming to bring people out of the wood work. I was thankful in a way, as making pot after pot of coffee and baking batch after batch of cookies kept my hands busy and my mind pre-occupied. Alice and I attended to the kitchen duties as Carlisle played gracious host. Esme was still too distraught to do anything other than sit in her favorite armchair clutching a wet handkerchief as tears constantly rolled down her cheeks. I checked on the boys often as they played in the family room, grateful for the constant soothing presence of Edna. Sensing their puzzlement at the activity and sadness around them, she remained in constant contact with them, leaning against them as they played, or trotting over now and then for a nuzzle or a friendly lick. They played happily with the occasional child that came with their parents as they paid their respects, and ate their lunch as if this were just another ordinary day.

When my dad arrived, we went out to the backyard for some privacy. Sue disappeared into the kitchen to help Alice after giving me a long hug. In many ways, Sue was a perfect match for my dad. They were both people of few words but deep feelings. I was usually the same, and when I had lived with them, the silences had been comfortable, never forced or filled just for the sake of it. Charlie and I sat together for a while, not saying anything, just sharing our misery.

"Suicide, you say?" His voice was gruff as he tried to control the emotion.

"That's the impression the chief of police gave. Mom has been under a lot of strain and was pretty miserable. She and Phil were having problems, and I just learned today that she was dealing with some major issues at work as well."

"Your mom may have looked tough, but I remember what things were like before she left." His eyes flickered to me briefly before he looked away again. "Now that you're older, I can tell you things that a kid wouldn't have understood. You already know that your mom was pregnant when we got married, I assume?"

I rolled my eyes and nodded. I remembered the fierce debate my mother and I had had about premarital sex after I had finally had enough smarts to work out the timing of my conception. I had been outraged as only a twelve year old, non-sexual teenager with romantic ideas could be. Mom had just laughed, turning it into an opportunity to lecture me on the value of reliable contraception. She made sure to reinforce that although they had both been shocked with the unplanned pregnancy, neither regretted my arrival.

"Anyone could tell we were complete opposites," Charlie said in his typical understated manner. "We had a holiday fling that became permanent…well, for a short time anyway. Once we knew you were on the way, we got married and settled down in Forks." He sighed loudly. "It didn't take long for the shine to wear off for Renee. Her dad had died of cancer a couple of months before we met. Then she got pregnant, married, and moved away from home. They were all big changes in a short space of time, and they took their toll on her. I thought it would get better when you arrived, that she would have someone to pour all her energy into." He sighed again, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. "Instead, it got worse. Back then, I'd never heard of postpartum depression. All I knew was that it seemed all the happiness had been sucked out of her. She looked after you, made sure no one could ever accuse her being a neglectful mother, but that was all she did. She hardly slept, never ate or showered, and did nothing to maintain our apartment. I knew something was wrong, especially when she started to avoid Esme. She had taken to ignoring me a while before, but I just thought she had realized she made a huge mistake getting married."

"So Mom had suffered depression in the past?" More secrets. She never talked about the rapid disintegration of her marriage to my dad, only explaining that they were both too young and it hadn't worked out.

"Yeah. I got home from work one day to find the apartment empty. She left a note saying she had moved back home with your Grandma, and she wasn't coming back. She thanked me for giving her you and promised that she would never deny me access, but that we weren't meant for forever. It took another twelve months before I saw signs of the Renee I knew in the beginning." He looked at me again, this time keeping his eyes on mine. "I hate to think what she might have done if she didn't have you depending on her back then."

As I stared into a brown the exact shade of my own, I clearly felt that he thought she was capable of it at that time.

"So you agree with Esme and Carlisle that she might have done…you know?" I asked, searching his face carefully. He nodded. "I just can't believe she's gone," I murmured.

Charlie's eyes softened, and he shuffled closer, stretching his arm around my shoulders and squeezing. "I'm sorry, kid. I can't either. Hell, it took me a long time to get used to it when she moved out, and we had only lived together for twelve months. Even then, she only went back to Port Angeles, and in an hour, I could drive over to see you both whenever I wanted."

I leaned my head onto his shoulder, enjoying the rare opportunity to snuggle with my dad. Neither of us had ever really been very open with our affection for each other, but he had always been there for me when I really needed it.

We both went back to staring out over the neatly landscaped, spacious back yard.

"Dad, I need to tell you something else. I broke up with Sam."

"Oh, that's too bad. He seemed like a nice fella the time I met him at your house."

He and Sam had gotten along well and had similar interests. The few hours they spent in each other's company, they had talked like long lost friends.

"He, um, met someone else."

I felt his arm stiffen around me.

"Do I need to go and do something about that?" he asked in a careful and controlled tone.

I snorted. "No, Dad, I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles." I looked away, ashamed to admit this to my own father. "Besides, it wasn't like we were made for forever, either." I used Mom's words to sum up my relationship with Sam. "He found the girl who he wants that with and did the honorable thing by ending things with me before he started anything with her." I swallowed the bitter taste from my mouth before continuing. "The thing is, Dad, that girl is Leah."

"Leah?" he asked, turning me to look at me again. "Sue's Leah? She only just moved here two weeks ago, for Christ's sake!"

"I saw them a couple of days ago when I went into the café where she works. That's where Sam and his workmates go for their muffins and coffee. They weren't even talking to each other." I snorted again, but it came out sounding more like a choked hiccup. "Well, not with words, anyway. Their eyes, though…boy, were they making goo-goo eyes at each other!" My heart shriveled a little as I recalled it, not so much the pain of being cast aside as much as the longing to feel something like that myself. "I left before either of them saw me."

"Your step-sister is in love with your ex? Holy cow, Bella. I…I don't think there is any fatherly advice I can give you on that," Charlie admitted apologetically, scratching his head with his free hand.

Poor Dad, I was really straining all his reserves today.

"Yeah. It sucks to be me right now." I sighed, not really mad about it anymore in the light of the bigger drama happening in my life. Nothing like a death to give you a little perspective. "They'll be good for each other. When you see Leah, can you tell her, from me, that there are no hard feelings? Sam and I were never serious enough to do the whole family-introductions-at-holidays thing, so neither knows of the other's connection to me. It is certainly going to be a bit awkward the first time we are all together in the one room, but I won't be a bitch to them, I promise."

"You're definitely not my baby girl anymore, that's for sure," Charlie mourned. "You're much more forgiving than me. The first time I saw Phil with Renee, I wanted to drag him out to the woods and dismember him."

This time, it was me who stiffened. "We could still do that, you know. You provide the means, and I'll engineer the opportunity."

"Hush now, Bella," he scolded me. "You don't want to make those sweet brothers of yours orphans, do you?"

"I know, Dad, but if you'd seen him at the house and heard what he said…"

"Look, Bella, I know you love your brothers. Phil is their father, and without the buffer of Renee to stand between you, you are going to have to put that anger aside. They need people around them to put them first. It'll only cause them more damage to see the people they love arguing. If you want to remain a part of their lives, you're going to have to tread very carefully. You don't want to give him a reason to cut you out."

Sadly, it was only too true. "I hadn't even thought that far yet, but you're right. He'd do it just to spite me. I'm dreading what will happen when he comes to get them. Carlisle called him just before you got here, and he said he would come over soon."

Charlie nodded, his face serious. "Well, families should be together at times like this. I'm sure you feel better having yours around you, am I right?"

"Yeah, you're right," I agreed, patting him on the leg. "Thanks for coming over, Dad. Although I wish it had been under better circumstances, I'm glad we got the chance to talk. Are you staying, or do you have to head back today?"

"I phoned the tribal council to tell them what happened. I've got the weekend off and they'll give me another day to attend the funeral."

"I'll be staying here with Alice, so if you and Sue want to crash at our place, you're most welcome." I stood up, and together we walked back into the house.

There seemed to be a lull in the procession of visitors. The kitchen empty except for Carlisle, Alice, and Sue. They were having a whispered conversation near the sink. The atmosphere was tense, and they all looked upset.

"What happened?" I demanded, sensing something had occurred while I had been outside talking with my dad.

"Phil came," Alice replied, her mouth settling into a straight, compressed line. "He told the boys about Renee."

I felt a sense of panic and moved to go find them, but Carlisle reached out to stop me.

"He's already gone." Carlisle looked even more pained than he had when he came over to Mom's house. "He only stayed about twenty minutes. He spent about five minutes with them and then asked for a word with Esme and me."

"And?" From the tension that rolled off him, I knew that whatever he was about to tell me would probably upset me further.

"He said the medical examiner confirmed that Renee's death was most likely a suicide, and that after the autopsy was complete, he would issue his final confirmation." He grimaced. "He also asked if we would keep the boys for a few days. He said he would be busy making arrangements, and that it wouldn't be good for them to go back to the place where their mother killed herself."

I huffed in outrage. "They've lost their mother and now it seems their father doesn't give a shit about them either!" I felt the rage bubble beneath my skin again, burning away all other emotion. I was so angry, I almost combusted with the force of it.

Alice rushed to my side as my dad reached out to gently squeeze my arm.

"I think it's better this way, Bella," Alice argued. "You know he never spends much time with them anyway. Why do you think Afton phoned you rather than his own daddy? The boys are used to staying here or with you and me from the regular babysitting we've done. Between all of us, I'm sure we can do a good job supporting them through this. They must be very confused and upset right now. Would you rather they go to Phil's parent's house?" She stared at me earnestly, desperately trying to make me see reason before I had another melt-down.

I sighed, letting my temper dissipate. "You're right. They would be better off with us." We were all familiar with the Dwyer's dislike for small children. "I should go check on them." I turned away and headed for the family room.

I found Esme sitting on the couch with Afton on her lap, both with tear streaked faces. Corin was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, his back leaning against Esme as Edna lay alongside his legs. He stared intently at the screen, watching a DVD. I sat down on the couch next to Esme and stroked Afton's hair.

Afton looked up at me, his face naked with his fear and sadness. I felt my heart break all over again.

"My tummy hurts with crying feelings. Daddy said Mommy has gone to heaven and isn't coming back."

I frantically tried to remember every psychology unit I had ever studied on how to explain the death of a pet to young children. _Be honest, reassure, keep it simple, and repeat often_. Losing a parent was not quite the same as losing a pet, the magnitude being exponentially greater, but the principles of dealing with the event would be similar enough.

"I know, buddy. I'm sad, too. We're all sad that Mommy has died, since we love her so much. We're going to miss her." I kept my eyes focused on his, as I stroked his hair and Esme stroked his back.

"Who's going to look after me and Corin now?' he whispered in a frightened little voice. "Will you and Aunty Essie go away, too?"

"No, buddy," I reassured him. "Your Daddy is very sad and busy right now, so he asked if you could stay here with us. We're not going anywhere, I promise. We're all going to look after you: Aunty Essie and Uncle Carlisle, and Alice, too. Of course, as your big sister, I'm always going to be here for you."

"Why did Mommy go to heaven?" Big fat tears filled his eyes, spilled over and rolled down his flushed cheeks. "Didn't she want to be with us anymore?"

"Oh, Afton. Mommy loved you with all her heart," Esme exclaimed. "And your brother and sister, too," she emphasized, her puffy eyes flicking to me.

_Dear God in heaven! How do you explain suicide to a five-year-old?_ I chose my words very carefully, wanting to be clear, yet attempting to keep it to words he could understand.

"You know Mommy has been really,_ really_ sad?" I waited to see him nod. "She went to the doctor to see if he could make it better. She even took a special medicine to try and get better, but nothing helped. She was so sad, she decided to do something to make her body stop working so she wouldn't feel that way anymore. It was a kind of sickness, one that made her think and act differently than you and me. If any of us knew she felt that way, we would have done something more to stop her so she would still be here with us."

"Okay." He scrubbed his eyes furiously with his hands before sitting forward. "I wanna go watch _Cars_ with Corin now."

"That's alright. If you want to ask anything about Mommy, you come and find one of us, okay? I know everything seems different and scary, but we'll all be here to take care of you both. Love you, little brother," I finished, pulling a clean tissue out of my pocket and wiping his nose.

He climbed off Esme's lap and sat on the floor on the other side of Edna, his hands unconsciously sliding through her thick fur as he became engrossed in the movie.

I grasped my aunt's hand, and we sat side-by-side watching the boys as they watched the flickering screen. My mind wouldn't let go of Afton's words, and they kept circling around in my head.

"_Didn't she want to be with us anymore?"_

* * *

><p><strong>If you would like more information about children and the topic of suicide, I can highly recommend this resource. <strong>

**www(dot)nalag(dot)org(dot)au(forwardslash)pubs(forwardslash)Supporting_Children_After_Suicide_Booklet(dot)pdf**


	5. Going through the motions

**Thank you to StoryPainter and irelandk for tidying up my comma's and shortening my sentences. I probably put the comma in the wrong place writing comma's *shrugs* I'm always learning something new. **

**Thanks also to my pre-reader, Shazzio. I love working with you lovey!**

**Smeyer owns them. I'm just the stowaway in caboose of her show train.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5-Going Through the Motions<strong>

For dinner, we heated up one of the casseroles some thoughtful mourner had brought over. After we ate together, Charlie and Sue said their goodbyes and headed over to stay at our house. Esme and Alice bathed the boys while Carlisle and I cleared up and did the dishes.

We started to make a list of everything that would need to be done over the next few days. On the top of the list was consulting a psychologist about how to handle things with the boys. Afton's teary questions made me realize how woefully inadequate I felt dealing with his grief. We would need to make sure we were all on the same page about how we answered their questions. Afton's school counselor would also be a likely source of help, but I wasn't sure if the daycare center Corin attended had access to similar support. Esme was also planning to contact a family counselor.

Carlisle was designated the family's liaison with Phil. There were the obituary notices, the funeral and wake to organize. We had no indication of what Phil had planned for these, if anything. Phil had told Carlisle that the autopsy was scheduled for Monday. We would have to wait until it was complete to find out when they would release her body.

Someone would have to draw up a list of people to be notified, such as Mom's employer and doctor, the boys' school and day care center. Mom had also been a member of many community organizations, groups and clubs, and they, too, needed to be informed. I could see that list becoming bigger the more I thought about it. We would also have to make some contingency plan for the clinic, since we would all be either off or working reduced hours for at least the next week. Carlisle said he would ask Clive Snow if he could put in a few more days and would call an agency about hiring some temporary replacements.

Once we finished, I wandered upstairs, listening to Esme's soft voice reading the boys a bedtime story. Alice's childhood bedroom had been turned into a guest room for the boys several years ago, and they stayed here often enough that they felt quite at home. I used to complain that Mom relied on us all too much for babysitting for her and Phil's many work and social events. I was grateful now, since the transition from home to Esme and Carlisle's had been painless so far.

Just as I reached the doorway, I heard the sounds of a smacking kiss, and then Corin spoke. I halted just outside the room and listened.

"I wanna kiss Mommy nighty-night for reals, not just her picture. When's she coming back?" he asked in a sleepy voice. A framed photograph of Mom now took pride of place beneath the lamp on the nightstand between the twin beds.

"I'm sorry, baby, but Mommy can't come back," Esme replied gently. "Remember what Daddy told you?"

"Why can't Mommy come kiss me and go back after?" Corin whined.

"It doesn't work like that, honey. Mommy can't ever come back from heaven, but she can see you from there. I'm sure if you talk to her, she will hear and she'll know how much you love her."

"Okay. NIGHTY-NIGHT MOMMY, LOVE YOU!" he shouted to the ceiling.

I couldn't help but smile as I entered the room. Corin was all snuggled down, Edna lying across the foot of his bed. I gave Corin a squeezy hug and sloppy kiss before patting Edna gratefully. I sat on Afton's bed as Esme went downstairs. Afton was looking at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

"Hey, buddy, what's the matter? Are you sad?"

He shook his head furiously. "No…I'm scared, Bella," he wailed, throwing himself into my arms. I hugged him tight, shushing him as I looked over to see if the racket was disturbing Corin. Thankfully, worn out from the days' exertion, Corin's eyes were already closed.

"What's scaring you, buddy? You can tell me," I soothed. "I'll try and fix it if I can."

"Daddy said Mommy's sleeping with the angels. If I go to sleep, the angels will come and get me too. I don't wanna go with the angels," he sobbed.

Suppressing the overwhelming need to curse Phil to hell, I went into damage control. Any idiot should know better than to describe death as sleeping to children. They took things so literally.

"Afton, do you remember when Mrs. Norris left you a present on the door mat?" Mrs. Norris was Mom's cat. She had often left the family a share of her bounty.

Afton's nose wrinkled in memory. "She left that icky mouse."

"That's right. Remember how still that mouse was? He wasn't warm and wriggly like the ones at the petting zoo. He didn't breathe or eat anymore either." I looked at his face to see if he understood. "Mommy is like that. She's not alive anymore and isn't sleeping. She died. When you die, you don't need to do those things anymore and you can't ever come back to life. It doesn't hurt to be that way, honest." I put all the sincerity I could in the look we shared, pushing down the personal pain it cost me to speak so bluntly.

He gazed at me, thoughtful.

"Daddy knew that you would be sad that Mommy died. He was trying not to upset you. He wanted you to think of Mommy being somewhere else, rather than being gone forever. Angels are so beautiful and special that it makes Daddy feel better to think of Mommy being an angel. Although she can't come back and can't talk to you anymore, you can still talk to her, just like Aunty Essie said."

"Will _you_ be talking to Mommy?" he asked, watching carefully for my reaction.

"I've been talking to Mommy almost every day, all my life. Even when I was mad at her or she was upset with me, we still always said something to each other. I'm not going to stop now, even though she can't talk back," I murmured. "It'll make me feel like she's still here," I explained, tapping my chest over my heart, "warming up my insides."

"Okay. Maybe I'll talk to her tomorrow," he suggested. "Instead of practicing nursery rhymes in private, I'll talk to Mommy."

"Private" was a big concept Afton had learned since starting kindergarten. It was all about private spaces for undressing, bathing, and going to the bathroom, and private places where no one was allowed to look or touch without your permission. His latest habit was to sing songs he learnt at school when he was sitting on the toilet.

Smiling, I tucked him back under the covers and kissed him goodnight.

"Goodnight, Afton. You come and get one of us if you wake up or have a bad dream, okay?"

Leaving the night light on and the door open a crack, I left the room. I sincerely hoped we could find a psychologist willing to give us some pointers tomorrow, even if it was a Saturday.

When I returned downstairs, we sat around drinking hot chocolate and going over our lists until we were cross-eyed with exhaustion. It had been a long and taxing day. When I stood, saying I was going to turn in, Alice stretched and yawned too, declaring she was going to join me. We got ready for bed together, taking turns in the bathroom to change, wash, and brush our teeth. Alice had a stock of clothes and lent me a pair of pajamas. We crawled in the bed side-by-side. Beside the boys' room, all the other guest rooms had king beds. I had shared a bed many times with my cousin growing up and welcomed the familiar comfort of it.

After Alice turned the light out, we lay facing each other in the darkness.

"Mom's worried about you," she whispered carefully.

"Why?" I whispered back. I'm sure she had a million other things to fill her mind with than me.

"She says it's not healthy that you haven't cried yet. Everyone else has. I even saw my dad and your dad brushing tears away when they hugged."

"Everyone grieves differently, Alice. You should know that from work," I huffed. "Believe me, I'm feeling it. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. It just doesn't feel real…even when I found her, my brain kept trying to talk me out of what I saw."

"Just don't stop talking to me about it. Any of us, really." She fumbled in the dark, reaching out for my hand. "I didn't even get to talk to you about Sam…and now all this…I'm here−we're all here, okay? Just don't shut us out." She yawned loudly.

"I promise, I won't, Alice. I keep thinking that if only Mom had let us know…"

"I know, but you can't beat yourself up with regrets and blame. It'll just drive you crazy."

With her whispered words sinking in, I allowed myself to let go and drift off.

I dreamed, vividly and intensely.

zZz zZz zZz zZz zZz

I was back at the time when I was sixteen. Mom had been dating Phil and things were getting serious between them. We were arguing, something that happened frequently at that time.

"I don't care what you two do, as long as I don't have to watch it!" I screeched, putting on my best bitch brow.

"One day when you're in love, Isabella, you'll understand!" she yelled back, hands on her hips.

"I don't give a flying fu−fairy if you love him. I'd just prefer not to see his tongue down your throat at the kitchen table. Is that too much to ask?"

Dream Mom sighed, as clearly exasperated as the real one used to get. "Don't be jealous, Bella. Just because I love Phil doesn't mean I love you less. It's just _different. _One day you'll understand."

One day you'll understand.

_One day you'll understand._

.

.

Mom was driving me to Forks. She was crying.

"I can't understand why you're doing this," she stormed.

"I told you, mother, we just need a break from each other," I replied through clenched teeth. Sighing, I tried to soften my tone. "Besides, it'll give you and Phil time to settle after the honeymoon, and it will save me from mortification every time I see his naked butt in the living room…or the kitchen…or the garage. On the hood of the car, Mom, really?"

She tried to laugh but sputtered through her tears instead.

"Besides, I know Charlie will love having me," I reasoned. "He needs someone to give him a push back into the real world. You know, like dating and stuff. After watching you two, I'm sure I could give him a few pointers."

"But, Bella, you're a young woman at a critical age. You _need_ me," she howled. "You can't be without your mother now."

Reaching over the console, I patted Mom's leg. "It doesn't matter where I live, Mom, you'll always be a part of my life."

"If you weren't of an age where you could make adult decisions, I'd be fighting this tooth and nail," my mom spluttered. "I can't believe I'm leaving my baby with someone else…"

.

.

Mom was in the bathroom, examining her gray face in the mirror. Critically, she ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to tidy the unruly locks. Her hands came away smeared with grease, soot, and blood. She washed them briskly before reaching into the fuzzy white space and drawing out a hand towel. Wetting it, she started to dab at the trail of dried blood that emerged from her hair and lay in streaks on the side of her face and down her neck. Once that was cleaned off, she tugged at her threadbare, ugly t-shirt and holey sweatpants. Stripping them off, she reached into the surrounding ether for the emerald green silk sheath dress she had worn three years ago for her fortieth birthday celebrations. Once dressed, she carefully applied her make-up. I watched, as fascinated as I had been as a small child, observing this mysterious ritual. First, on went the concealer and a dusting of power. Next, she used a pencil to delicately line her eyes, thicker on the top lid than the bottom. Eye shadow followed, artfully shaded and feathered. It always made me laugh, seeing the faces she pulled and the funny open shapes her mouth made as she coated her lashes with mascara. A quick slick of lipstick and a slight brush of blusher, and she was all set.

She turned to me with a scolding look. "You know I never go out unless I'm looking my sexy best, Bella."

.

.

I walked up the barley lit aisle. The depthless and inky blackness crowded all around me, making me feel slightly claustrophobic. Up ahead, a spotlight illuminated a large and boxy shape.

It was a coffin.

Slowing my pace to a reluctant dawdle, I drew near, my eyes focused on the casket. It was made of a heavy metal, the surface polished to a burnished shine. Two thick bands encircled the coffin a few inches from each end, both fastened securely with a padlock. My heart started to thunder in my chest as I walked closer, my hand shaking slightly as it reached out to touch the cool surface.

A muffled sound came from within, and the coffin started to rock violently on its supporting frame. I snatched my hand back in horror, a shriek building in my throat.

A soft snicker to my right temporarily distracted me. With wide eyes, I turned toward the noise. It was Phil, sitting atop the casket with his arms and legs casually crossed. His hair was slicked back, and he was impeccably dressed in an old fashioned black suit made of a shiny and spangled material. On his feet were black and white patent leather wing tips. He smirked at me before he started singing.

_Give 'em the old Razzle Dazzle  
>Razzle dazzle 'em<br>Show 'em the first rate sorcerer you are  
>Long as you keep 'em way off balance<br>How can they spot you've got no talent  
>Razzle Dazzle 'em<em>

_Razzle Dazzle 'em_

_Razzle Dazzle 'em_

zZz zZz zZz zZz zZz

I woke with a start, bleary eyed and disoriented. Although I had managed to sleep for a decent length of time considering, I felt uneasy. The echo of my strange dreams lingered, even after I showered and forced myself to eat breakfast.

Once again, Esme and Carlisle's house became a point of pilgrimage for the townsfolk. The living room was filled with the perfume of flowers and greenery, the kitchen table groaning with the weight of laden dishes. Along with murmurings of shock, we also had to deal with people's curiosity now that the cause of death had been publically acknowledged. I knew it was hard for my aunt and uncle to deal with, having fled myself after hearing one too many utterings of "but they were such a happy couple," and "but she was so full of life." As a group, we had decided the night before to deflect questions about the specifics of her death until we had the coroner's statement. We couldn't predict what Phil was saying, though, and as yet, no word of his version of events had trickled back to us.

It also became apparent that Phil had made himself scarce. Several of the visitors received had first stopped by Mom and Phil's house, only to find no one home. Some reported that he wasn't at his parents' place either, and wasn't answering his cell phone. His office had been shut up and a notice of closure due to bereavement placed in the window.

As long as he didn't plan on spending time here, I didn't concern myself too much with his movements. The boys had only asked after him once and didn't seem bothered by his absence.

The pediatric psychologist, Esther Goff, phoned after lunch. Carlisle transferred her call to his study and pressed the speaker function, allowing both Esme and myself a chance to listen to her suggestions and strategies to support Afton and Corin. She reinforced the need to maintain their usual routine as much as possible and to answer any questions honestly and directly. She also gave us some valuable advice about how to help them through the funeral, if they were to attend. We talked to her for over an hour before scheduling appointments for both boys early in the coming week. After a lot of debate, we decided not to send the boys to kindergarten or daycare until after they had seen Esther.

Alice and I took them to the park after lunch, just as Mom used to do on Saturdays. Afton took off as soon as we arrived, climbing up the jungle gym with practiced ease. Corin dragged me to the swings, but soon became increasingly anxious and began to ask for Esme. He started to sniffle and only settled when I took him back to Alice's car and Edna's comforting presence. The park did not allow dogs, so Corin, Edna and I sat together companionably in the back seat until Afton had his fill and returned with Alice.

When we drove back to the house, my dad and Sue joined us again for supper. Once Afton and Corin had finished their dessert of ice-cream and sprinkles and disappeared for their bath, Carlisle revealed that Phil had phoned while we were out. He had selected Silver Lining Funerals to oversee arrangements. He had also made an appointment to see Father Banner after church tomorrow to arrange Mom's funeral mass.

Grandma Higginbotham had raised her girls in the Catholic faith she clung to staunchly all her life. My mom had stopped going to church once she married my dad, and it wasn't until she met Phil that she "returned to the fold." I didn't put any stock in organized religion, but Mom had considered herself catholic, and I was glad to hear that Phil had put some consideration into what she may have wanted for her send off.

Carlisle had managed to convince Phil to allow all of us to attend the meeting, offering to share the organization. Phil had stated he was arranging for someone to look after the boys on the day if the service, and he and Carlisle had a heated dispute about the issue. The psychologist had suggested it might be an important event for the boys to attend. She explained that in the future, they might need to remember and feel a part of important rituals to say goodbye to their mother.

Surprisingly, Phil had also asked if I would pick out something for Mom to wear. He had left instructions that someone would be at the house in the morning so I could collect some clothes for her. A flare of…something filled my chest at the thought. I was surprised and touched to have been given this responsibility, even though I knew that Phil had only asked because he had no idea when it came to clothing. Mom had always been the one who shopped for him and laid out his suits. She would have taken this job very seriously, if it had been assigned to her. Mom always took great pride in looking her best, and I had never seen her step outside the house without her hair done, make-up on, looking stylish and put together. It didn't matter whether she was just playing tennis or gardening, she always put as much effort dressing for those as she did for a big night out.

The conversation around the table turned to tentative talk about what Mom may have wanted included in her funeral service. I sat back, sipping my wine and listening to the conjecture going on around me.

In truth, I didn't have the heart or energy to contribute. I felt bone-weary, numb and disconnected from everything, a feeling that had been building since I first walked out of Mom's bedroom. Needing some solitude, I picked up my glass and pushed myself away from the table, walking over to the counter to refill it. Seeing that everyone was still engrossed poring over lists and making new ones, I slipped into the dark back yard. I pulled a battered cigarette and lighter out of the pocket of my jeans, having stashed them there earlier. Although a chilly wind blew, rustling the shrubbery and tickling through my hair, I felt somewhat more at ease sitting on the garden seat, puffing acrid smoke and sipping the crisp wine. It felt nice not to think too deeply, not to guard my thoughts or expressions, not to push myself to behave like a properly functioning person.

This was the first time I had ever had to deal first hand with death. Grandpa Swan had died when my dad was in his teens and his mother had passed away after many years in a nursing home suffering from dementia. I had never met Grandpa Higginbothom either, and Grandma had died in a hospice when I was ten, succumbing to cancer. She had been sick and in pain for a long time before that. Although we visited her often, in my memory she had always seemed like a frail old lady fading away, her death freeing and a blessing more than a tragedy.

The loss of my mother was so much more, the pain almost visceral in its intensity when my guard slipped enough for it to crash back over me. I kept having flashbacks to the image of her on her bed, so cold and almost rubbery, a stark contrast to the vivacious and animated person I had known. She may have been a pain in my ass at times, but goddamn it, I loved her anyway. I couldn't believe that she had let things drag her down, so much so that she somehow believed that oblivion was easier than dealing with life. Hadn't she been the one who told me there was still time to fix things if I just put in the effort? When had she decided it wasn't worth it? Was it when Phil moved into the spare room? Was it when she got the disciplinary notice from work? Or was it when her bitchy daughter told her to butt out and sort her own problems out first?

I could feel my hands shake and my pulse started to thunder in my ears. My head began to throb in time, and I could feel the pressure building in my chest. Butting out my cigarette carefully, my mind raced to find a way to distract myself, to avoid the building feelings I barely kept in check. I wasn't ready to deal with it all yet, wanting to escape a little, to put the inevitable off for just a bit longer. The last time I had experienced any sort of emotional oasis was with that man in the park…that reporter…_Edward_. The numbness was barely sufficing, nowhere near as restful as that brief moment of respite had been.

My mouth twisted with remembered anger as I thought of my last image of him, like a negative exposure in stark black and white, his green eyes wide and apologetic. I was getting sick of that look; the constant pity directed my way had quickly become stifling. Resolved that I needed to numb myself further, I snuck back into the kitchen, surprised but thankful to find it empty. Swiping the bottle of wine, I retreated back to the shadows of the garden. I drank directly from the bottle until I couldn't feel the nip in the air anymore, until I couldn't hear the questions in my head, until all I felt was the pleasant buzz of alcohol keeping all the doubt and misery away.

Only when the bottle was empty did I admit defeat and stumbled inside. I didn't even bother to wash or change, just stripped off my clothes and bra and crawled in next to Alice wearing just a tank and panties. Alice groaned as my cold leg brushed hers, turning over to peer at me in the dim light.

"Bella! Where have you been?" she demanded. "I was worried you'd taken off somewhere."

"I wazz here the whole tiiime!" I giggled, amused by the sound of my slurred voice.

Her face scrunched up in disgust, and she waved a hand over her face to dispel my alcohol-laden breath.

"You smell, and you're freezing!" Staring at me intently, her face softened with evident concern. "Look, I know this is all overwhelming, but please don't disappear down a bottle or anywhere else. Mom's getting more and more worried and now I am too."

"I…just…" I could hear the pathetic waver in my voice and swallowed against it. "I don't want to feel this way, Alice. It's too much…I just need it all to go away for a while." I scrunched my eyes closed tightly, trying to stop the traitorous tears from breaking free.

Warm arms surrounded me, and I could hear Alice's heart, slow and steady, thudding against her ribs. I sighed in appreciation, listening as her words rumbled through her chest as my ear pressed against it.

"I know, sweetie. I can't imagine how bad it all feels, but denying it just makes it fester. It'll all just be sitting there, waiting to catch you unaware, like a snowball that gets bigger and bigger as it rolls downhill. You need to let it out, to talk to someone." Her gentle hands patted my back softly. "You come find me when you're ready. Hell, find anybody, just…let it out, okay?"

I nodded into her chest, knowing she was right but not ready to do it yet. When I had calmed myself enough, she released me and we lay side-by-side.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you something." Alice turned slightly toward me again. "Remember when I came to your mom's to pick you up yesterday?"

Frowning, I nodded, recalling exactly what had happened, and how she saved me from acting like an even bigger idiot in front of the small but inquisitive crowd.

"Well, that cute guy you were trying to go all Rambo on before Sam pulled you away?"

My brows lowered further and I nodded curtly again.

"He didn't take a picture. It was the other one, the fat, bald man. _He_ did."

My mouth fell open and I gazed at her in shock.

"You mean…I…I went all Amy Winehouse on the wrong guy?"

"Yeah," she laughed at my obvious surprise. "You might want to track him down and apologize." With that, she turned over and snuggled under the comforter.

It wasn't until sometime later that I realized with a jolt what Alice had done for me. I patted her sleeping form gratefully. She had sidetracked my pity party for one, turning my self-absorbed thoughts to the polite green eyed man who had been kind enough to help take my mind off things at a time when I had desperately needed it.

Yes, I was going to track him down…I could at least try and get one thing right.


	6. Walking wounded

**Thanks to StoryPainter and irelandk, who have now agreed to be my permanent beta's.**

**Happy birthday Project Team Beta! I would never have made a start at this writing thing without your support. I'd be lost without your service now. **

**Thanks also to my pre-reader, Shazzio. She is my sounding board, informal therapy and filter all in one.**

**Thank you to the small but faithful band of reviewers who make my day each week. You really do make doing all of this worth it :)**

**SMeyer wrote the original and owns the lot. I'm just playing "what if?"**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6-Walking wounded<strong>

_Sunday, the day of rest, _I thought to myself as I dressed for church.

Nothing about today was shaping up as being the least bit restful or soothing. I needed to go choose an outfit for my mother to wear. It had to be perfect, just as she would have wanted, since she was going to wear it for eternity. Then there was church. I hated sitting through the hour long mass, and to have it followed by what was sure to be an awful task was doubly discouraging. With that kind of beginning, who knew what would happen with the rest of the day?

Sue had kindly brought Alice and me a few changes of clothes and delivered my van yesterday when she and Dad came for supper. Going through the bag, I chose a pair of fitted dark gray trousers and a soft knit sweater Mom had given me for Christmas last year. It was a deep rose color and masked the sallowness of my pasty skin. I looked like I felt, tired and worn, as I critically examined the dark bags under my eyes in the mirror. I left my hair loose, wanting the option of having a way to hide my face if the staring got too much during mass. Slipping into a pair of low heels, I grabbed my keys, said a quick goodbye to everyone, and drove over to Mom's place.

It felt strange being back there. Already, the house looked slightly forlorn and neglected without its lively occupants. A single car stood in the driveway, so at least I knew Phil had kept his promise and made sure somebody would be here to answer my knock. I waited for someone to answer, fidgeting with the cuff of my sweater as I restlessly shifted my weight from foot to foot, wondering who would greet me. The door was opened by Phil's mother, her face pinched-looking and disapproving.

"Good morning, Isabella. Phillip said that you would be stopping by." She swung the door open and I followed her into the entry hall.

"Hello, Victoria," I replied, knowing that my lack of formality always annoyed her. She always wanted me to refer to her as Mrs. Dwyer. Screw that.

I knew there would be no expressions of sympathy over the loss of my mother from her. She never really approved of her son marrying an older woman, let alone a divorcee with a teenager. She didn't really like kids much at all, and I often found myself wondering why she had ever bothered giving birth to two of her own. As long as she tolerated my brothers, her only grandchildren, I made sure I was at least civil, though not always as respectful as she would have preferred.

"Phillip asked if I would help clear up a little so he can come back home. Those policemen didn't bother to clean up anything after themselves," she complained, turning around with a swish of polyester. Victoria Dwyer was a throwback to the typical fifties housewife, dressing in floral housedresses, hand knitted cardigans, pantyhose, and sensible shoes. Since she was cleaning, she had added a navy blue pinafore-style apron over the top, tied in a neat bow in back. I had only ever seen her graying red hair drawn back in a severe bun, making her angular features look older and more austere. With her rail thin frame, old-fashioned dress sense and discontent looks, she appeared at least ten years older than her fifty-five years.

"They went through all the cupboards and drawers, not even bothering to close them again. They left dust everywhere from taking fingerprints and didn't wipe up after," she griped. "They even went through the cabinet and the trash in the bathroom, and then left everything all over the place! No wonder poor Phillip said he couldn't sleep there."

I wondered if she knew he hadn't slept in the same room as my mother for the last three months.

When we neared the bedroom, I slowed, the anticipation of being back _there_ making me anxious. Victoria disappeared through the open doorway and headed for the adjoining bathroom as I stood in the doorway surveying the room.

So much had changed in such a short time. A brand new bedroom suite, the mattress and base still encased in plastic, sat against a bare wall. There were new nightstands and a bureau, all very masculine-looking in a deep stained wood instead of the white French style furniture my mother preferred. Mom's dresser was gone, the contents lying in the open cardboard boxes neatly arranged in its place. The print that usually hung above the bed was leaning against the wall near the boxes, along with the curtains that previously hung over the now empty windows.

"Phillip plans to completely alter the room. The painter will be here tomorrow." Victoria was standing in the bathroom doorway, a bucket containing cleaning supplies hanging from her hand. "He said he couldn't bear to be surrounded by reminders of how it ended."

I could feel my face blanch with her words. They were like a slap across the face, an all-too painful reminder of just how it did end, right in this very room. I couldn't really blame him for changing everything; after all, it was his home, too. It just felt too soon. So much of her presence had already been stripped away, and I didn't feel anywhere near ready to let her go yet. Even her smell, the essential scent that reminded me so much of her was muted now, masked by the stringent odor of bleach and air freshener. Still, I reminded myself, I had no right to demand he keep the room as a shrine to her. I straightened my spine in an attempt to maintain my composure**, **not wanting to let Victoria see how painful this all was for me to see.

"All your mothers' clothes and things are still here, so help yourself to anything you want to keep. Phillip has instructed me to give anything you don't want to Goodwill." She cleared her voice and looked a little uncertain, something I watched with fascination, having never seen her that way before. "He collected all of Renee's jewelry for safekeeping. He did say he would send anything that your Grandmother had left her on to you."

I didn't know what to make of that, or how to feel about the news. "Oh," was my feeble reply.

"She…Renee didn't have a will, so by rights, everything belongs to him. It was a very generous offer on his part, you know," Victoria pointed out, her eyes narrowing as if daring me to argue the point.

"That was…nice…of him. Tell him thanks from me." I gave her a weak smile. "I'll…um…just look through her clothes now."

"Alright then," she nodded and strode purposefully to the door. "Make sure you come find me when you're ready to leave."

I waited until I was alone again, and let out a sigh of relief. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the time. I had about an hour until I had to be at church. I entered the large walk-in closet, taking in the mess left behind. Several stacks of bed linen had been removed from the overhead shelving and piled on the floor. Storage boxes had also been taken down and rifled through, then carelessly dumped where they lay. I peeked into them curiously, before pushing them aside, shoving them close to the racks containing Mom and Phil's shoes. I surveyed the crooked hangers jutting out here and there, a splash of red satin lying next to muted green wool in jarring contrast. One side of the closet contained a long rack of her clothes, the opposite wall a shorter rack of Phil's suits and business shirts.

Turning back to Mom's side, I stood staring at the mad jumble, trying to think what she would have chosen for herself. She would have wanted something classic and understated, something that made her look great but that was also fitting for her final rest. Reaching out a tentative hand, I started flicking through items, pushing the hangers forward as I viewed, then discarded each piece. As I went through blouses, trousers, and skirts, my movements got more and more fierce and jerky, until I was forcefully shoving clothing along the hanging rail. With a frustrated growl, I took a step back.

_Damn my stupid mother for leaving me to do this! When she planned to kill herself, she should have taken the time to see to this stuff herself! I have no idea what I'm doing. She should have left instructions, a note, to explain what she wanted. To tell me why she thought this would fix things for her. To−_

I stepped back further, my chest heaving with the force of my breathing, the contact with the wall stopping me from sinking down.

Letting myself fall apart wasn't going to get the job done. I needed to pull myself together and get it over and done with. Taking deep breaths to calm myself again, I moved back to the few remaining items, most still in their dry cleaning protective plastic slip covers. I examined them one by one until I reached the emerald green sheath dress Mom had been wearing in my dream last night. I remembered how she looked the night I had seen her wear it, how youthful and luminous she was.

Yes, this would do perfectly.

I pulled it out and set it aside. Bending down, I went through the shoe rack to find the strappy black heels she had worn with the dress. Finding the right ones, I put them beneath the dress so I wouldn't forget them. Going back into the bedroom, I looked through the boxes searching for some black pantyhose. Then a question struck me. Would she need underwear? I wasn't sure whether they would redress her in what she had on. No one would know what was under the dress anyway, would they? God, I felt so helpless, not knowing what was the right thing to do in such a situation. Finally, I snatched up a bra and pair of panties, thinking it didn't seem right to think of her lying there, commando under her finery. At least the bra would keep her boobs in the right place. I snorted at myself, thinking about female vanity in such a way at such a time.

_What else would she need? _

I thought back to my dream again and the image it left me with. _Make-up and perfume._ I went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. There was the usual assortment of toiletries, tampons, razors, and hair products. I took out the small bag containing her make-up but couldn't find her bottle of _Red Door. _I searched the bathroom without success before going through each of the boxes again. No luck. I found an empty shopping bag and put in the make-up bag, lingerie, and shoes. I draped the bag over the hanger holding the green dress, returned down stairs carrying the lot. I found Victoria scrubbing the downstairs bathroom, asking her if she had seen Mom's purse.

"It's in the kitchen. They took everything out of it and laid it on the counter top. It's all still there. So inconsiderate!" she harped as she scrubbed the grout around the hand basin. "You think they could tidy up after themselves."

Rolling my eyes, I went into the kitchen. Mom's large black purse had been upended on the counter, the contents neatly arranged. There were keys, her wallet, lipstick, pens, emery boards and the like; the usual minutiae found in any woman's bag. There was also a bottle of her favorite perfume. Of more interest was the cloth-bound diary I had seen her use countless times. I picked it up, stroking the covering worn smooth by my mother's hands. The front slip cover was stuffed with receipts and appointment cards, and I also found her prescription. Three drugs were listed on it: Xanax, Zoloft, and a limited order of Ambien. Turning the page over, I saw that the pharmacy had issued the Xanax but not the others. Putting it back with the other things, I thumbed through the coming weeks' pages. Mom's tidy script noted appointments with her hairdresser, one marked "Jenny−wax," and one with her doctor. There was a play date for Corin and a PTA meeting at Afton's school. Sighing, I made a mental note to call and cancel each one. I picked up her iPhone, checking her inbox and sent files, noting that both were empty. I scrolled through her contacts, but found only familiar numbers.

Putting the phone down, I stood leaning against the counter, thinking. I couldn't see Phil inviting me over again anytime soon, so this would likely be my last opportunity to do a clandestine inspection, if that's what I wanted. I wasn't sure. Everything just felt so wrong, not that losing a parent would ever feel right. I wasn't sure if it was just the shock of it all doing my head in, but I needed some reason, almost as if I felt I was owed an explanation. Making up my mind quickly, I went back to let Victoria know I was going to borrow some photo albums and would be taking a few of the boxes from the walk-in closet upstairs. Sticking with some of the truth, I explained that it was for the funeral service.

Returning upstairs, I quickly looked through the boys' room and guest bathroom, which both looked unchanged. The guest room had also been returned to its usual appearance, the closet and nightstand both empty. Phil must have cleared signs of his habitation before asking his mother over to help out. I returned to Mom's walk-in closet to collect the boxes I wanted, stacking them together and taking them out to my van. I did a quick walk-through of the downstairs, not finding anything that would answer my endless questions. I don't know what motivated me, but when I returned to the kitchen to fetch Mom's clothes, I opened the high cabinet above the counter. I took down the half-empty bottle of wine I had stashed out of the way there the day I found Mom. Opening the second draw, I found a wine stopper and corked the bottle, hiding it in the shopping bag with the shoes and make-up. After saying a hasty goodbye to Victoria, I left, my heart thudding with the surge of adrenaline my hasty theft incited. I tried not to dwell on the bottle and why I took it, not yet ready to permit my conscious thoughts to traverse that minefield.

Instead, I drove over to St Francis de Sale church, focusing my thoughts on getting through the next hour. Parking my van, I waited until the rest of the family arrived before going inside. I felt the weight of eyes on my back as I shuffled along the pew, taking a seat next to Carlisle. Thankfully, mass started soon after, and I immersed myself in the unfamiliar rituals. Just before the readings, a young woman stood in the center aisle and invited all the children to go with her for special activities. I had heard Afton speak of these before, and he was off like a shot, impatiently pushing past our legs to join the other kids. Corin wrapped himself around Esme's leg and refused to move. When the young woman approached our pew, he buried himself in Esme's skirt and refused to look up. With a friendly shrug, she gathered up her band of small followers and they disappeared into the foyer.

Sometime later, when the priest was doing his thing preparing the communion offerings, I heard shouting coming from the back of the church. With rising alarm, I realized it was Afton, and exchanged a panicked look with Carlisle. He tipped his head, indicating I should go. I slipped out of my seat and hurried toward the ruckus. I found Afton red faced, his fists clenched at his side as he shouted at a middle-aged woman who was anxiously trying to placate him and wringing her hands.

"God is a big, fat, BUTT head, and he should give my mommy back!" he howled.

I knelt in front of him, gripping him gently by the shoulders. "Hey, little man. What's going on?"

"She said God wanted Mommy," he sniffed, pointing an accusing finger at the hovering woman. "I don't want God to have her." His eyes got bigger as the tears filled them, his anger melting away as I watched. "She's _my_ mommy and I need her more than he does."

I bit my lip, lifting my hand to stroke his hair away from his clammy forehead. "I know, buddy. I know you do." I pulled him close and hugged him as he wrapped his arms around my neck and sobbed into my sweater.

"I'm _so _sorry!" The woman babbled. "Afton wanted to talk about his mother going to heaven and Bree started to say something about how because of what she did to herself, that she would be consigned to purgatory. I tried to make things better by saying she was with God, that it was God's will. I thought it would make him feel better…"

"He's just a little boy," I accused. "He doesn't understand her being gone, let alone all these stories about angels and God taking her. It's freaking him out." I could feel myself getting angry on his behalf.

She held out a neatly pressed and folded pink handkerchief. I accepted it with some reluctance, but not wanting to ruin my clothes, I yielded to practicality. I swiped at Afton's eyes as he continued to cry.

"I'm Mrs. Hammond. Bree and I run the children's circle every Sunday. You must be Afton's sister. He talks about you a lot." I could see the genuine regret in her eyes.

I nodded. "Sorry for the scene. It's just…difficult for us all to accept. You know?"

"I can only imagine your pain, dear. It's so hard to know what to say, and I suppose I just slipped into a familiar phrase without thinking how a child would see it." The poor woman looked like she was about to join Afton and cry into my chest too.

"I'm sure you meant well," I conceded. "Sorry if the stuff he said about God offended you, but you need to talk to that girl about her views of suicide. My mother is−," I stumbled, still not used to the newness of the situation. "_Was_ a good person. I don't want to hear about anyone suggesting otherwise."

"I knew your mother well, and I agree wholeheartedly," Mrs. Hammond asserted, her hands reaching out in a placating gesture. "Sadly, a lot of people still hold the old-fashioned view of it as a sin."

"Well, whatever. I'd rather not hear crap like that, and I don't want anyone saying anything about it to me or the boys. Ever!" I looked at her sternly, making my point. "Come on, Afton. Let's go out to the playground until church is done." Picking him up, I carried him outside.

The church shared grounds with the parochial school, and making our way through a gate, I set Afton down. He ran straight for the slide, clearly at home in the familiar surroundings of his school. My heels sunk in the deep layer of cushioning tan bark, making me slightly unstable. I gingerly made my way to the opposite side of the playground, heading for the benches that separated the play area from the unfenced basketball courts. I glanced over briefly, hearing the sounds of a ball being bounced and sneakers skidding along the cement. Two men were playing, too engrossed in their spirited game of one-on-one to pay us any attention. Turning my eyes back to Afton, I watched with a smile as he climbed up the ladder and then careened down the slide with endless energy, over and over again.

A short time later, a firm nudge against my ankle made me start in surprise. Looking down, I saw a scuffed basketball rolling away from me. I bent over slightly to pick it up, intending to throw it back to its owner, only to hear the sound of footsteps as someone approached. Straightening up and standing, I looked up into the eyes of the person who had come to retrieve the ball.

He was tall, his hair plastered to his temples with sweat, making the bronzy color a muted brown. His chiseled jaw was covered in a layer of scruff, making him look more masculine, if that was possible. Dampened with perspiration, the Nike tank he wore had stuck to his chest, highlighting the definition hidden beneath the fabric, his bare shoulders and arms showing nicely sculpted but not too beefy muscles. Feeling the heat rising as I openly ogled the man, I reminded myself where I was, and with whom. Reluctantly, I drew my distracted gaze back to his face, meeting his eyes.

I was met with familiar and startling green, the man's eyes glowing with mirth. Recognition seemed to come to us both at exactly the same time, and I watched as his eyes clouded with concern and apology. It was Edward.

"Oh. Hello again, Bella. It seems I have twice as much to apologize for now. Sorry about hitting you with our ball." He looked down, scuffing his battered sneakers against the ground. "I'm sorry about the other day, too. I had no idea that it was your mother…inside." He looked back up at me, and I could see the sincerity there. "When I saw your coveralls and the white van, I assumed you were with the recovery team. I must have come across as an insensitive asshole."

Gathering my scattered thoughts, I held out the ball. When Edward reached out to take it, his fingers accidentally brushed mine. I almost gasped at the odd sensation that his touch elicited, my fingers tingling with the residual electricity that the brief contact seemed to have caused.

I cleared my throat, which was feeling parched all of a sudden.

"No, it's me who should be apologizing," I disputed. "My cousin told me that it wasn't you who took the photo. I…wasn't acting entirely rationally that day. I shouldn't have attacked you like that. I'm sorry."

Edward wiped his hand across his brow, and scratched the back of his head, looking a little abashed at my words. "Fu−ah…that's okay, Bella. No one would blame you. Hell, I've had worse at other scenes, comes with the territory sometimes." Clutching the ball to his chest, his eyes became serious again. "I'm really sorry about your Mom. I know there is nothing that I or anyone else can say that will make the loss of someone so important to you any easier."

I swallowed convulsively again, touched by his genuine kindness. I looked away, trying to suppress the tears I could feel gathering.

"Hey, Edward, are we going to finish the game or what?" Edward's basketball partner jogged over, his blond curly hair bobbing as he moved. He, too, was tall but leaner than Edward. Drawing closer, his eyebrow lifted in question as some sort of unspoken conversation seemed to flow between him and Edward.

Edward turned back toward me. "Bella, this is my friend and boss, Jasper Whitlock. Jasper, this is Bella."

Jasper grinned in a knowing smirk, waggling his eyebrows at Edward.

"You talk to a girl for two minutes and already got a name?' Jasper crowed. "You got the moves, man!"

Edward frowned and bumped his shoulder into Jasper, making the smaller man stagger slightly. "It's not like that, you di− you idiot!" Shoving the ball hard at Jasper's chest, he explained. "Bella's mother passed away on Friday. We met at the _scene,_" he enunciated carefully, his voice laden with hidden warning.

"Oh. OH!" Jasper looked over at me in apology. "I'm real sorry, Bella. I think my mom and your mom were in book club together. Momma has great respect for teachers. My family owns the paper. We'll be publishing a respectful tribute piece or my Momma will tan my hide, rest assured."

I smiled briefly, relieved by his promise. Jasper looked from me to Edward again, his eyes calculating.

"I'm going to head off now," Jasper announced. "I'll catch up with you later, Edward." Turning, he said goodbye and throwing a last loaded look at Edward, Jasper walked away toward the parking lot.

Gesturing at the seat behind us, Edward indicated we should sit. As I did, I looked over to check on Afton, who was still contentedly playing on the equipment.

"Is that your kid?" asked Edward, watching me as I watched Afton.

I laughed. It wasn't the first time someone had mistaken me for their mother. "No, that's my little brother. My parents divorced when I was very young and Mom remarried. I actually have two baby brothers."

"Wow. It must be really hard on them, being so young and losing their mother like that," said Edward, his tone full of empathy.

"Yeah. We're all taking it pretty hard. The boys can't understand it. My Aunt Esme has been a real mess. Mom was the only family she had left after their parents both died. I can't imagine what she'd be like if she didn't have the boys to look after." I looked over at him again, scanning his face before relaxing minutely. "I…I still can't get used to the fact she's gone, let alone _how_ it happened." I looked over to Afton again, needing something else to focus on as I spoke.

"It must have been a horrible shock," said Edward his voice low and quiet.

"It was." I found myself matching his soft and subdued tone. "I knew Mom had been a bit…down, but I never would have suspected she'd do that. We spoke every day, and I'd been on the phone with her just the night before. If I had of known, that call would have been so different…" I could feel the guilt eating away at me again.

It was easy to talk to Edward. Unlike the constant stream of visitors, I didn't get the sense that he wanted anything from me−not answers, explanations or details, not reactions or expressions of grief. He was just there. His presence seemed to lift a weight I hadn't consciously recognized I was carrying, and I found myself letting out a little of the emotion that fought for release.

"Not knowing why is…just…devastating." I whispered. "Mom was always pretty open with how she was feeling and what was happening in her life. For her to go like that and not tell us why…it feels beyond weird. Like, shouldn't the world just stop until we have some sort of answer?"

"What was she like, your mom?" Edward asked, genuinely curious.

I smiled, my head full of memories. "Mom was a real live wire. She always seemed younger than her years. She always wanted to try everything, from new crazes and exotic food to outrageous activities. You know, she tried to take me bungee jumping for my sixteenth birthday?" I looked at Edward again, distracted momentarily by his smile. He had full lips; smooth, pink, and very soft looking for a man. His smile was slightly crooked, the corner of his mouth curled up higher on one side than the other. It was quirky and kind of…captivating.

"Is that even legal?" he asked, his eyes dancing.

We sat as I talked for what seemed like hours, telling him about various things my mother had made me try over the years. Before I knew it, Corin had joined Afton on the playground and Alice was walking toward us across the yard leveling a questioning expression my way.

"My cousin's coming. It must be time for the meeting with Father Banner." I looked down at my lap, realizing that we had inched closer to each other as we talked, our thighs now touching. I stood up abruptly, embarrassed at the thought that I might have bored Edward, monopolizing the conversation as I had. He stood, too, reaching out and briefly brushing my hand with his before withdrawing it quickly.

"Thanks for the chat, Bella," he said with a smile. "I'd better let you go back to your family."

"I'm sorry for taking you away from your game and running off at the mouth. I'm sure you have better things to do with your Sunday than listen to some random girl go on about her mother. I've heard that kind of thing usually freaks most guys out."

He laughed, a rich and throaty sound that made my insides do new and strange things. "It was a pleasure to run into you again. Besides, I did most of the talking last time, so turnabout is fair play. You didn't freak me out at all. I hope we get the chance to do it again soon."

I stared at him, amazed that he would think so, and even more surprised that he would want a repeat.

"Bella?" Alice tapped my shoulder, breaking the little reverie I had been sharing with Edward. "They're waiting for us inside."

We said our goodbyes, and Alice and I turned to shepherd the boys back into the church.

"You looked very cozy sitting there with the journalist guy. Anything you want to tell me?" Alice questioned.

"I apologized and we chatted, Alice. Nothing more," I stated. "I talked a bit about Mom and he listened. End of story."

"Hmm, looked a bit more than that to me," she countered, examining my face carefully. Sensing my growing discomfort, Alice changed the topic. "Do you think he'll put that in his article?"

"I kind of hope so. I don't want people to remember my mom as some deranged woman who offed herself. I want them to remember her for all the other things she did. The things she did for her family and community, things that matter."

Alice threaded her arm around mine and rested her head against my shoulder.

"I hope so, too," she replied. "No matter what anyone else says, your Mom mattered to all of us. Nothing else is more important than that."


	7. Another Nail in the Coffin

**Thank you to my beta's, irelandk and StoryPainter. The lesson on "I" and "me" proved particularly helpful.**

**Thank you's also to my wonderful pre-reader, Shazzio for her ideas and reality checks.**

**Many thanks to Bower-of-Bliss, who sees everything ;) **

**I post an image and a snippet of the story every week on PicTease on TwiFicNews. Follow the link at the bottom if you'd like to see the pictures. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 7-Another Nail in the Coffin<strong>

I slammed the front door behind me, the sound echoing through the empty house. Edna padded over to greet me, her head tilted in curiosity, sensing my turmoil. Stalking up the stairs to my temporary bedroom as Edna followed closely behind, I stripped off my clothes and flung them on the bed. Grabbing my overnight bag, I rifled through the contents. In my efforts to find what I needed, I upended it, strewing clothes across the comforter. Edna watched my every move, her eyes seeming to convey her concern. Giving up when I couldn't unearth what I wanted, I threw myself face down on the pile of clothes, screaming into the soft layers beneath me and pummeling them with my fists. I emptied out all of the frustration I had been holding onto. After, I lay for some time, silent and still.

Something cool and slightly moist tickled up along my arm, and when I turned to look, my eyes met the limpid brown of Edna's, her nose scant inches from mine. She whined, her heavy tail thump-thumping as it hit the bed every time she wagged it. Reaching out, I fondled her silken ears and scratched under her chin, making her close her eyes and lean her head against me.

"Sorry, girl. I'll be okay−eventually." I sighed and let my head drop back down. It was comforting to have her undemanding presence, and wanting to return the favor, I kept up my stroking and petting.

The door opened and the bed dipped as someone sat next to me.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I tried to get him to change his mind," my aunt said.

"It's not your fault that he's an inflexible asshole," I mumbled into the material bunched underneath me.

The meeting with Father Banner had started well. Phil had been polite and looked over the lists we had compiled with interest. He examined the picture of the coffin I found online that I thought might suit Mom. We chose readings and selected who would do them. We picked out some of Mom's favorite songs to be played instead of the usual church hymns. Carlisle asked about the eulogy, and as a group, we decided who would get to deliver parts of it and for how long. Phil didn't argue this time when we spoke about the boys attending and who would look after each of them during the service. We debated about flowers and whether to ask for charitable donations in Mom's name instead. Everyone contributed their ideas, and we soon had a host of personal touches that were a reflection of Mom's personality. It was only when I asked when we were going to pick out a cemetery plot that the trouble had started.

Phil wanted to have her cremated. He had pre-booked it for the same day as the funeral, even though we didn't know when that was happening, and wouldn't, until her body had been released by the coroner to the funeral director.

Father Banner had pointed out that in the Catholic Church, the traditional requirement was for burial. Something about returning to the earth and having a body to join at the time of resurrection, he had explained. Phil shocked everyone to silence, retorting that since she had killed herself, Mom clearly bucked some of the traditional Catholic beliefs.

I wouldn't have argued but for one thing. My mother had never really spoken to me about death much, let alone shared her thoughts about her own wishes when the time came. I supposed, like most people who were young and in good health, she never really considered the concrete possibility of sudden death. I did, however, remember a conversation we had when I was about twelve.

Mom had loved gardening. It was a fondness she and my aunt had both inherited from my Grandma Higginbotham, who had always had an immaculate and thriving array of flowers, plants, and vibrant garden beds. We had lived with Grandma until I was six, when Mom finally got her teaching degree and earned enough to move us into a small apartment of our own. Mom missed having a yard to potter in, so we spent many hours helping Grandma in hers, especially when the cancer meant she was often too unwell to do much. When Gran finally did pass away, Mom and Esme carefully planned what they would plant on her grave and would go to the cemetery together or separately to tend and tidy. One time, I went with my mom and she finished with a saying her mom used to quote: _We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden._

That year had been one of new discoveries for me, of considering adult things and the changes in my own life and way of thinking as I began to leave childish things behind. I got my first period that year, and had found out about my conception. I also faced other changes, such as mom's return to the world of dating.

I asked her what she thought happened when we die, where she thought Gran had gone. Mom had looked away as she thought about her reply, staring at the willows that lined the cemetery, their branches rippling with the wind.

"I believe your soul leaves your body and is set free. If you've lived well and learned the lessons life put in front of you, you go to heaven, joining the souls of others you love there." She sounded wistful, but sure. "Your body is just a shell you leave behind, a gift to offer the earth that sustained you throughout your life. The essence of who you are isn't in the shell you shed; it's in the part of you that soars away. You don't need that body anymore, so why not return it to do some good elsewhere, to support new life in other ways? You know, the circle of life and all that."

Her words lingered, tucked away in my memory only to surface again now when the need arose. I knew in my heart that my mother would have wanted to be buried. I tried reasoning with Phil, recounting this memory. I added that her parents had a plot together and perhaps there would be room for her nearby. Carlisle had tried to be the voice of reason, asking if we could discuss the issue some more. Phil stated point blank that Mom had never expressed a desire either way to him, and had left no will or instructions. Raising my voice slightly, I retorted that, as her daughter, I knew what she would have wanted. He shot up from his seat and spat that as her husband, he had the final say, and since it was his right, cremation was what he had decided. Recognizing that I had no come-back for that, I got up and left without another word, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I would widen the breach between us irreversibly.

"I know this is not what you want for your mom, Bella," Esme soothed, placing her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezing. "He is right, though. As her husband, he gets the final say in everything. If you push too hard, you know he won't even negotiate about the smallest things. I asked him what he intended to do about her ashes after, but I don't think he has even thought that far. Maybe, if you ask, we can bury her ashes somewhere. I know it's not quite the same but it's something."

"I don't know…I feel like…there needs to be something…more…to remember her by than just a pile of dust." I swallowed convulsively, trying to gather the shredded edges of my composure together, the last of my anger soothed away with the familiarity of Esme's touch. She was so motherly and concerned. It was too close, too much, too similar. I pushed myself up abruptly, needing to busy myself, to find some sort of physical outlet. "I need to do something."

Esme looked at me, her eyes fretful and sad. I couldn't bear looking at her expression anymore, and jumping off the bed, started pacing in the small space around it. "If I can't have a grave, I need something else, somewhere where the boys can go as well. I can't do it in our yard, since who knows what Alice and I will do with the house in the future. God, I can't even think of doing anything at Mom's. Phil's a realtor for Christ's sake! The house will probably be on the market before we know it." I knew I was babbling but couldn't seem to help myself, my steps getting shorter and shakier.

"Stop!" Esme's sharp tone brought me up short. She got up and came over to me, reaching out to hold my arms loosely. "Bella, do it here, make something in our yard. Lord knows we have the space, and Carlisle and I have no intention of moving." Her voice softened. "Make something here. We can all use it then, a little contemplative space just for Renee." Tears filled her eyes again and her lip wobbled as she tried to hold them in. "She would have loved that."

I thought for a minute before nodding. It was the perfect compromise. Feeling better and developing a plan in my head, I took a cleansing breath and straightened my spine.

"Okay, then. Let's get started." Marching to the door, I was about to open it when Esme laughed.

"Ah, honey?" she snickered. "You might want to put something on before you go anywhere."

I looked down at myself, surprised that I had forgotten I was still only clad in my underwear, having given up changing when I couldn't find the clothes I wanted.

"Oh. I couldn't find any sweat pants," I replied in a sheepish voice.

Smiling, Esme left the room, returning with a pair of pants and a worn plaid shirt.

I got dressed, and together, we went out to the yard. After discussing various ideas and discarding them, we finally settled on the patch behind the large garage. It wouldn't ruin the aesthetics of the existing landscaping, and the cover of the garage would offer a kind of private space. The area was enclosed by the brick garage wall and the yard fencing, so the boys couldn't wander off. This was an important consideration since no one would be able to see into the area from the back of the house. It would be a little garden room dedicated to Mom. Galvanized, we discussed plants and layout ideas over lunch.

I'd never really taken much of an interest in that kind of stuff before, seeing it more as a pastime for old people. I never viewed Mom and Esme in that light, however, having just thought they had picked up a quaint and old fashioned hobby from Gran. The yard work might give people a pleasant way to pass time out of doors, but aside from making things look pretty, I always thought it was a bit of a useless task. As I immersed myself in my new project, I was starting to see the attraction.

After lunch, we loaded the boys in Esme's car while I drove my van, and set off for the garden store. We spent a pleasant time browsing and selecting what we needed, debating the merits of various water features and statuary. An enthusiastic and helpful salesperson came to our assistance when I started looking over some pavers and a natural stone wall bordering a display area. Before I knew it, I was buying a do-it-yourself book and ordering supplies for delivery the next day.

As I loaded the pots and seedling trays in the back of my van, Corin and Afton came running up.

"Come and see, Bell Bell!" Corin called out, bouncing up and down in excitement. "We found _us_ over there."

Puzzled, I allowed Afton to grab my hand and lead me to the end of a row of bagged saplings. Reaching the end, Corin bent over and began talking in a high-pitched baby voice to a garden statue.

Taking a closer look at it, I realized it was actually a group of figures. The tallest, reaching level with my chest was an angel, her wings partially open and reaching above her head. She looked neither young nor old, her face kind and smiling, which lent her a kind of timeless air. She had wavy hair that curled loosely around her face. In her hand, she held aloft an old fashioned lantern, using it to guide the two small figures who pressed tightly against her legs. They were two boys, both very young. Corin was talking to the one that appeared about Afton's age.

"Hello, Afton," Corin spoke in his sing-song play voice, touching the face of the bigger boy statue. "Let's go for a walk with Mommy. Don't be scared, she's got the light."

"See, Bell Bell!" exclaimed Afton. "We found us! The angel looks just like Mommy. The little boy is Corin, and the bigger one is me. Can we keep her?"

I looked down into his shining eyes, hopeful and eager. If the decision was solely mine, I would never have chosen such a clichéd image. Seeing how taken my brothers were, I couldn't resist. If it made them think of Mom, who was I to deny them this piece of remembrance? After paying for everything, the concrete trio was loaded into the van, wrapped carefully in one of the pile of blankets I kept there for animal recoveries.

Back at the house, I threw myself into the task, digging a shallow foundation for the curved low walls that would double as garden benches, and excavating where I planned to put some crazy paving. As I occupied myself with the manual labor, my mind was free to dwell. And dwell it did.

Things hadn't started off strained between Phil and me. On the contrary, when Mom first brought him home, I thought he was nice. He was good looking, young, gainfully employed and had nice manners−was charming even. He didn't try to talk down to me or suck up, like some of her previous dates had. Although he was extremely attentive to my mother, he always took the time to chat with me when he came to pick her up. I was fifteen at the time and well past the need for a babysitter by then. He really seemed to care about my mom, even giving her a phone as they got more serious so they could chat together whenever and wherever. Mom even sat me down and asked my opinion of him before asking him to stay over the first time. While he was a little younger than she was, he treated her like a princess and brought a sparkle to her eye that I had never seen. Since he didn't give me freaky vibes, I told her to go ahead. They did everything together, eventually spending so much time together that Phil was more or less living with us. Less than eight months after meeting, Mom woke me one morning, giggling and giddy, showing me the glittering ring adorning her left hand.

It didn't take long after that for their demonstrative behavior to gross me out. Before, they had always respected my teenage sensibilities and kept the PDAs to a minimum in front of me. Then the noises started, all groans, moans and furniture creaking from their bedroom. At first, it just disturbed my sleep, but the more time they spent together, the more I heard their passion during the daylight hours as well. As if that weren't bad enough, it went from that to coming home finding them naked and sweaty almost anywhere in the house. Once I even joked to Mom that it seemed Phil had to mark his territory by christening every surface.

I could see his point of view, really I could. I'd had my mother's undivided attention for my whole life, where their relationship was new and thrilling. It wasn't just that, though, that got on my nerves. I came to notice that Phil liked having his own way a lot, too. Mom didn't seem to care where they went or what they did, as long as they did it together, so Phil got to decide most things. Although he tried to hide it, I could see his irritation flare when I disagreed with him, like when I suggested an alternative activity or a different place to eat. When he started to get a little jealous, such as when she had to do Mom things with me, like for school or running me to work or my friends' houses, I seriously started to consider my alternatives.

I realized that Mom and Phil were soon going to be married and would start to build a new life together. I wasn't a baby in need of coddling anymore; I was almost an adult, quite capable of looking after myself. Phil liked it better when he had Mom all to himself, and he was easier to get along with when he got his own way. I was used to the pouts and sulking, being a teenager with girlfriends, but Phil could put them all to shame. Mom idolized him and had no resistance, usually giving into him after one look.

Finally, I decided to give them some space and reclaim some of my own. I'd always had a good relationship with my dad and had spent lots of time between my parent's homes. He looked pleased and proud the day I asked if I could move in with him, and I knew we would get along just fine.

Mom tried to resist it at first, bereft at the thought of being separated from her baby. Phil and I both reassured her it was a good decision that benefitted everybody. While she and Phil did what newlyweds do, Dad and I forged a closer and deeper understanding of each other, too. We were both quiet people who enjoyed our own company and liked our privacy. We fell into an easy rhythm: I looked after him by cooking and cleaning and he looked after me by teaching me to drive, getting me a car, and giving me some freedom and independence.

It took a few months before I detected the changes in Mom that her new relationship had wrought. Phil became the focus of her whole world. She didn't do anything unless she did it with him, and she began to drift away from her regular friends. At first, I thought it was because Mom worshipped Phil. When I watched them both at a few social get-togethers, I began to think that it was more about him. I already recognized he hadn't liked sharing Mom with me, and it seemed that went doubly for her other relationships. My aunt was the only person that didn't fall by the wayside. Esme would never have stood for that for long.

When Mom first announced that they were having a baby, aside from the shock of it, I was concerned for a time that it would cause tension between them. The needs of a baby, by necessity, should always come first and Phil disliked playing second fiddle to anyone. I shouldn't have worried. Mom was still so in love with him that she worked really hard to ensure that nothing would change in their relationship. Phil was still the center of her universe with Afton added in as a little satellite, orbiting around the sun. By the time he was born, Mom had cut back on her work hours, stopping for a time altogether after his birth. After Corin turned one, Mom insisted that she wanted to return to part-time work. Phil had agreed reluctantly, and only then with the proviso that her work would not interfere with their home life or his business activities. By that time, he had joined the Clallam County Business Advisory Group and was heading the regional realtors association.

The arrival of my brothers changed things between Phil and me further. Once he had his "heir and a spare," it seemed like he stopped thinking of me as my mother's child altogether. He often pointed out that I was an adult, and therefore able to fend for myself. Although he was never openly rude, he was dismissive of me and griped about the time I spent with Mom. I refused to allow his attitude to interfere with my relationship with my mom, though. We just timed our catch-ups and phone calls for when Phil was at work or busy with other things. It took more and more tolerance on my side to avoid arguing with him when we did spend time together, his petty and possessive ways grating on me. He reminded me of nothing more than a petulant, spoiled child. Mom wouldn't hear of any complaint against him, and on the few occasions I had hinted at my growing qualms about the changes in my mother to Dad, he would say "that's not the Renee I know." Eventually, I learned to hold my tongue. Over the years, Phil and I fell into an uneasy sort of unspoken truce where we largely ignored each other.

With my Mom gone, it appeared the truce was over. The trouble was, although I didn't particularly care for him, I loved my brothers intensely. Their hurt was my hurt, and I couldn't imagine not being a part of their lives. They were both still so young, and because of that, Phil currently held all the advantage. I couldn't afford to push things too far and risk being cut out of their lives. Thoughts of what he might do brought me back to the altercation we had earlier today.

It just didn't sit right with me that he was so adamant about the cremation issue when it seemed like he hadn't really thought through much else. I don't know what he had been doing over the past few days, but judging from the way he looked over our lists at the start of the meeting, it was evident that he hadn't considered many of the details.

"When are we going to put Mommy angel into the garden?" asked Afton, bringing my attention back to my current task. I looked down at his dirt-smeared face and clothes. He and Corin had been having a wonderful time playing in the growing pile of earth I had dug out in preparation for the stone wall.

"Well, my handy helper, I'm going to start building the walls tomorrow when the stone arrives." I wasn't sure what the time was, but judging from the change in light and the pleasant smells wafting through the back yard, it was nearly suppertime. "We're out of time today, but when we finish off the garden beds and put the plants in, we'll be able to settle your Mommy angel into her spot. I'm going to need lots of help with it, though."

Afton reached out his hand and, taking off my gardening gloves, I grasped his smaller one in mine. "I'll help you. I've got big muscles for digging." He bent his arm and pushed his sleeve up, showing me his scrawny bicep and pale skin. I tickled my fingers along his arm, making him giggle and squirm. I scooped him up and carried him into the house, my own muscles protesting after an afternoon of unaccustomed physical exertion. I felt tired, but in a good way, a welcome change after the emotional unrest of the last few days. It was the first night since Mom died that I actually looked forward to bed and sleep.

Unfortunately, there was precious little of that for any of us that night. Corin had nightmares and wet the bed after one of them. After the first one, Esme had laid next to him, since he wouldn't allow anyone else besides her or Edna to comfort him. The second time, he woke Afton, who then had trouble getting back to sleep, which in turn made it more difficult to resettle Corin. It was heartbreaking listening to him sobbing for his mommy, and Esme cried almost as hard as he did. In the end, Afton joined Alice and me in our bed. Unlike Alice, he was a restless bedmate, all sharp elbows and kicking legs. What little sleep I got that night was fitful and peppered with shadowy dreams full of my mother and Phil.

I rose early, since the lighter the morning got, the more restless Afton became, even though he stayed asleep. Starting the coffee maker up, I walked down the driveway in my pajamas and boots to fetch the Seattle_ Times_ out of the mailbox. When I pulled the plastic-wrapped newspaper out of the letterbox, I saw a note had been placed just inside the protective cling film. Picking at the ends, I found the edge and unwound it, unfolding the note to read its contents.

_Dear Bella,_

_I hope you don't think I'm a stalker, tracking you down at your Aunt & Uncle's house like this. PA is a small place, and it didn't take many questions to find out where you are staying._

_Anyway, I just wanted you to have the chance to read this before most other people saw it._

_I hope it does your mother justice, she sounded like someone special._

_Regards,_

_Edward Masen_

Straightening out the thick bundle, I noted that the local paper, the _Peninsula Examiner,_ had been included along with the daily. I flicked through the _Examiner_, sucking in a shaky breath when I uncovered the large color picture of my mom on page four. It was one taken by the community college at the start of the school year; the kind put in the orientation guide so students could identify their teachers. Mom looked pretty and youthful, her smile extending to light up her eyes. Walking slowly, I skimmed the story under Edward's byline.

_The Port Angeles community was shocked and deeply saddened to hear of the sudden passing of popular local teacher, Renee Dwyer on Friday...grew up in the area...married to respected local businessman…studied hard as a mature-aged college entrant and became much valued and admired secondary school teacher before taking the job at the community college… students described her as vivacious, friendly and kind… daughter, Isabella and young sons, Afton and Corin devastated by loss of their loved mother…husband, Phillip, states wife "troubled recently and sought help for issues"…police report no suspicious circumstances…apparent suicide yet to be confirmed…_

Going into the kitchen, I spread the paper on the table, reading the article in more detail. It had a full bio of her career and more recent committee and social memberships. Edward had interviewed several people, all of whom had nothing but positive things to say about Mom. It seemed people were stunned, not one noticing any recent change in behavior that might indicate Mom was struggling with the depression that was becoming apparent to her family. She had hidden it well, presenting her usual cheerful veneer outside of the house. The piece finished with a statement from the head of the regional mental health crisis team about the rates and symptoms of depression and where to find help. It was a moving and well thought out tribute, and I felt thankful that it had been phrased in such a way to honor her without sensationalizing how she died.

As I turned to the back of the paper where all the public announcements were, Afton padded into the kitchen rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Yawning, he crawled into my lap and snuggled into my chest.

"Whacha doin'?" he murmured into my pajama top, reaching up to stroke his fingers absently through my loose and morning-messy hair.

"I'm reading about Mommy in the obituaries."

I could feel his little body stiffen. "That's a bad word, Bella!" he scolded. "Daddy called Mommy that all the time and I didn't like it. It made me sad."

I was stunned. "What word do you mean?" I asked him gently, having some idea but needing his confirmation. "I promise I won't get mad if you say it."

"Bitch," he whispered, burying his head deeper into my chest, releasing his hold on my hair.

Explaining about the word obituary and what it meant, I reassured him that I loved our mother and wouldn't call her any awful names. I showed him the picture of her in the paper and told him that lots of people were saying nice things. He was so excited that he raced off with it, eager to show Corin that Mommy was famous enough to appear in a newspaper.

Sighing, I got up to start making breakfast, since, in his enthusiasm, Afton was likely to wake everyone up. My head hurt, throbbing in time to the achy bruises on my heart. I still felt deeply guilty about hurting my mother, the shame eating away at me. I felt even sadder knowing that she had been hiding the full extent of her pain and distress, evidently the object of scorn and derision from Phil, and in front of her sons no less. I was worried about them too, what they had seen and heard over the last few months, and how their young minds would cope with the fallout of her loss. Although the newspaper tribute was respectful and considerate, it made me feel exposed, a cataclysmic event I was still learning to deal with suddenly all too public, fodder for speculation and gossip.

Needing to distract myself from my introspective thoughts, I turned my attention instead to the note. It was very thoughtful of Edward to warn me of what was inside the paper. I couldn't imagine how I would have reacted had I come across it when I was out where other people could see my distress. Although it wouldn't have taken him much to find out where I was, he had taken the time to write and alert me, ensuring I received it well before I went anywhere for the day. It was a kind and thoughtful gesture, and I reasoned that he must have felt really sorry for me to go to so much effort. It seemed every time we encountered each other, I was either distracted or distraught.

I longed for the seemingly uncomplicated way my days had passed before all this happened, feeling unsettled and antsy. With the magnitude of the loss of my mother, though, I wasn't sure what my new version of normality would look like once the dust had settled. How could things ever be normal now she was gone?

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><p><strong>This weeks teaser picture is of the angel statue the boys found. You can check it out at http : (two forward slashes )s1205 (dot) photobucket (dot)comalbums/bb433/middlewife/ **

**Just remove the spaces. The password is: Psuedonym**


	8. To Think the Unthinkable

**Thank you to StoryPainter and irelandk for turning my lingo into something readable.**

**Love and kisses to my pre-reader Shazzio. Not only does she give me great suggestions, but she also plays a mean game of "Words with Friends," my new addiction.**

**I'd love to show you a picture of Renee's memorial garden, but I suck at stuff like that. I'll try, and if I manage it, I'll add it to the same photobucket account that I provided the link for last chapter.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8-To Think the Unthinkable<strong>

After the truck from the garden supply store came, I threw myself into the work on Mom's memorial garden. As Carlisle mixed cement, Alice and I hauled the stones from where they had been dumped near the garage, lugging them closer to the work site. Esme and the boys carted yesterday's excavated dirt off, the boys fighting over who got to push the child-sized wheelbarrow behind Esme's. The wall-come-bench I wanted to build myself, having pored over the DIY book and researched it further on the net before bed last night. Once I was done, we would all work together to lay the paving stones and finish off the garden beds. The water feature would be installed after.

Working kept my mind focused, since sorting, selecting, and placing the stones in a balanced way took concentration. By midday, when I stopped for lunch, one bench was complete and the other more than half done. I enjoyed working with my hands so much that I began to think of other projects I could do at our house. Alice and I inherited Grandma Higginbotham's house when she died. It had been rented out for many years, but when we both finished college, we decided to move in together. The house was old, having been built in the late 1920s, and although small, it suited two young women just starting off. While it had been well maintained, the last renovations had been completed in the seventies. Maybe it was time to get rid of the mission brown trim and faux brick cladding?

Once I finished the second bench, Esme and I laid the pavers while Alice entertained the boys. Carlisle was about to start planting out the garden beds when the clinic called to say the the fill-in vet had just arrived. The substitute was going to work with Dr. Snow to ensure Hoof's and Woof's maintained business as usual, and Carlisle wanted to welcome and orient him in person. We waved him off and continued our work while the weather held. Rather than regular flag stones, I had chosen rough stone the same color as the benches, just with a flatter and more even surface than those used on the bench. Since we were only covering a small area, we finished the paving by mid-afternoon. When Alice and the boys came to appraise the result, she wandered around, looking at the effect from different angles.

"I don't know, Bella. I know it looked great when we checked out the display. I just keep thinking that if you put those stones down between the pavers, the boys will pick them up and throw or kick them all over the place." Back at the garden supply, we had decided on small quartz pebbles between the pavers to complete the finish. "Maybe we need to rethink that and pick something more practical."

"You can get a variety of miniature ornamental grass that would be perfect," suggested Esme. "It's hard wearing enough, and would soften the look of all the stone."

"Hmm, okay." I could see their point. "I'll go and pick some up so we can finish it off."

Alice and Esme promised to start planting out the seedlings and potted greenery while I was gone, so everything would be ready for the placement of the angel statue later today.

As I drove into town, I reflected that it was actually nice to be out on my own for a while. For the past four days, I had been almost continually surrounded by my family. Even though I needed their support at such a crazy time, I had missed the solitude of my own company more than I realized. I picked up a couple of trays of the resilient variety of grass suggested by the horticulturalist at the garden center and loaded them into my van. It was handy for all sorts of jobs like that, one of the reasons I was grateful I had stuck with my wish for the practical rather than the pretty. I had been ribbed about it plenty when I first bought it.

Afterward, I decided on a whim to stop in somewhere for coffee and a quick snack. I parked the van in the first convenient spot and walked to the nearest café. As I waited for my carryout order, I could hear whispering at one of the tables behind me.

"That's…daughter…heard she shot herself."

My body grew rigid with indignation, and I strained to hear what else was being said. Trying not to be too obvious about it, I looked up into the mirror behind the counter to see who it was. Two middle-aged women I didn't recognize were staring at my back. As one woman whispered lowly to the other, her friend's eyes got rounder, clearly horrified by what she was hearing.

"She looks too normal to be related to someone like that," the aghast woman muttered in a louder whisper.

My jaw locked with the effort not to snap at these ignorant people. What did they expect, some sort of brand to appear advertising the fact I was related to someone who was apparently mentally unstable?

"…so violent…," hissed gossiper number one. "…wonder what message…poor husband…such a lovely man…so devoted to his family."

The server indicated my order was ready, and I snatched up my purchases, leaving quickly. As much as I itched to react, there was no way I was going to add fuel to the fire by having a very public screaming match with hags like those. Realistically, I knew this wasn't going to be the last time I would face such a situation; it just made an already overwhelming experience that much more trying. With a pang, I realized how much I missed my mom. Had she been with me, she would have had a funny quip to take my mind off it or a tart observation about the women that would have made me laugh.

Once again in the privacy of my van, I sipped my coffee and picked at my slice of applesauce cake, my appetite all but gone. I was just about to start the engine when my phone chimed with a text.

_Pls call at yr earliest convenience re yr mother~JJenks_

I looked at the message, puzzled. The name was familiar enough to tickle unrelentingly at the edges of my memory. I sat for a moment, deliberating whether I was ready to have another stilted "I'm terribly sorry" conversation with yet another person I barely knew. In the end, I decided to call, my curiosity piqued.

"Jenks and Scott law firm. May I help you?"

"Oh, ah…this is Bella Swan. I got a message from this number to call a J. Jenks?" I stuttered into the phone.

In no time, I was speaking to Mr. Jenks himself. He explained that my mother had been consulting with him recently, and he had only heard the news of her passing this morning. His voice cautious, he informed me that she had left a letter for me. With a surge of excitement, I cut him off, stating that I would be there in a few minutes. During the short trip to his office, my mind was in overdrive. What if she had left a proper note with Jenks? It made sense; it was a secure means to ensure it would get to me directly and in a timely manner. Would it have the answers I was desperate for, some sort of rationale for the completely irrational? Anything would be better than the limbo I felt I was in now. I parked again and jogged over to the converted shopfront housing the lawyer's office.

His secretary looked fresh out of school, her conservative satin blouse and pleated skirt raided from her mother's closet. Mr. Jenks was short and round, his shiny, outdated suit straining at the seams. The graying hair around his ears did not quite match the lush brown of the synthetic hair in the cheap toupee he wore. I took a seat in front of his desk, the laminate surface peeling at the corners. Everything looked worn and slightly down-at-heel, something which inspired little confidence. I wondered why my mother had chosen Jenks rather than my uncles' lawyer.

"Thank you for coming by so quickly, Miss Swan. I'm afraid I can't tell you much due to client-attorney privilege. What I do have permission to say is that Mrs. Dwyer first came to see me in August to seek advice about some personal matters. She left me very specific instructions about an item I have been holding for you on her behalf."

I sat, staring at him, my confusion plain. "My aunt said my mother only started seeing a lawyer last month."

"Oh no! Mrs. Dwyer had been my client for longer than that." He gave me a wry smile. "Often, due to the very nature of the issue that clients' seek counsel about, many prefer to keep their contact with an attorney to themselves."

"It seems my mother was keeping many things to herself recently," I muttered, more to myself than Mr. Jenks. "You mentioned something you were keeping?"

"Ah. Yes, I do have something Mrs. Dwyer left for you. I must say, I was only humoring her initially when I agreed to hold the letters for her." Steepling his fingers and leaning on the desk, he peered at me under his wiry and overgrown eyebrows. "She only started with them about a month ago. She wrote three of them altogether, asking for the previous one back before shredding them in my office. She would then give me a new one to replace it."

I felt a sense of hope bubbling up in my chest, lightening some of the tension and ache there.

"My instructions were to ensure you received it if something…untimely…should happen to her," Jenks added.

He opened a drawer in his desk, and then pushed a plain white envelope across the desk toward me. "I must say, I am consumed by curiosity. My work has little in the way of mystery, and this seems very cloak and dagger."

I stared at the envelope greedily for a few seconds before tentatively picking it up. Standing, I turned to head to the door.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Jenks asked plaintively.

"Mr. Jenks, I will come back at some time to talk to you some more, but right now, I really want to be by myself when I open this." Backing towards the door, I shrugged apologetically. "She didn't leave a note when she…" I remembered that Jenks hadn't said how he heard the news, so I had no idea if he knew how she died. "This could be the 'why' that I need to know."

Not caring if I appeared rude, I left, my eyes flicking to the letter every few minutes as I drove back to Esme's. My heart was pounding in anticipation when I finally tore the envelope open. I felt a twinge of disappointment when the single piece of paper, little bigger than a postcard, was at last revealed.

_Bella,_

_Strange things have been happening to me for the last few weeks and I'm sure that someone is trying very hard to get rid of me. Sadly, there are more suspects than I initially thought and I can't trust anyone right now. I don't want to put you or Esme in danger by telling you what I fear._

_If something happens to me, I want you to promise not to believe everything that you might hear about me._

_I'm sorry for being cryptic but there is too much at stake._

_I love you,_

_Mom xxxx_

I read it over and over, confused and alarmed, but also elated. Although it wasn't quite the explanation I was hoping for, it was something. She had thought to reach out to me in some way. Clutching the letter firmly, I flung open the unlocked front door and raced inside.

"Hey, everyone! Mom left me something!"

The living room was empty so I headed for the kitchen, stopping dead in my tracks when I took in the scene around the kitchen table.

Chief Cudmore was sitting at the head of the table, his hands rolling the edge of his hat. Esme was sobbing into Carlisle's chest. Alice was wiping her eyes, a resigned look on her face. After my rapid entry, they all looked up me in askance.

"What's going on?" I demanded, hating to hear the waver in my voice.

Felix stood and indicated I should take a chair.

"I've come from the medical examiner's office to let you folks know of his findings as a courtesy. We've already informed Mr. Dwyer, but I knew you'd all want to know as soon as possible."

I sat with a thud, my legs suddenly weak. With all the recent activity over the last few days, I had firmly pushed thoughts of the autopsy aside.

"As I've been telling the Cullens, the findings were all consistent with suicide, which is what the medical examiner has recorded as cause of death." His face was mournful as he spoke.

"But she left me this," I announced, holding up the letter and relating how it came to me. I passed it to Felix as I continued. "Maybe she didn't really kill herself. What if someone killed her and made it look that way?"

"Bella, I know this is a very distressing situation for you. I know it must be hard to believe she would do that, but we found no evidence to suggest anyone else was involved," he advised, his expression sympathetic but resolute. "Your Mom's fingerprints were found on the wine glass and pill bottle, confirming she willingly took the drugs and alcohol that were detected in her system. A lot of people do that before−" He cleared his throat. "It gives them the courage to go through with it."

"But the letter…" I sputtered, looking for points to argue with.

Felix handed the letter to Carlisle, who looked it over intently.

"I don't mean to be cruel, but I'm afraid this just sounds like the talk of an unwell and paranoid person." I could tell Felix had tried to soften his words for my benefit. "It just makes me more certain that she wasn't in her right mind."

"I have to agree with the chief, Bella," Carlisle added softly. "I know it's hard to accept, but the professionals all agree."

"But she can't…she wouldn't…" Suddenly, it was all too much, the tide of thought and emotion threatening to engulf me completely. I stood so abruptly my chair keeled over backwards, hitting the floor with a loud crack. Everyone was talking at once and the cacophony of sound made my head feel like it was going to explode. My pulse was racing, and I could feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead. I needed to get out now, before the walls completely closed in on me, the claustrophobic sensations building to a crescendo. I took off, leaving the front door wide open before running to my van and pulling out of the driveway in a shower of gravel.

The inside of my head was a screaming mess and I didn't know what to do with myself next. A panicky restlessness engulfed me. I needed to find someone who would help me make sense of it all. I was driving on autopilot, and before I had made a lucid decision, I was in front of the police station. Like any bad habit, when I was pushed to my limit, it seemed I craved the comfort of familiar things or people, no matter how damaging the result. Bracing myself, I decided that since my subconscious led me here, I might as well make use of the opportunity. I marched inside and asked if I could talk to Officer Uley.

"Bella?" Sam looked perplexed when he came out and around the high counter top to meet me. "I thought Felix would have been to visit you by now."

"He did. I need to see the reports or something," I pleaded, sounding desperate and slightly deranged, even to my own ears. "I need to see it for myself in black and white. You can do that for me, can't you, Sam?" Reaching out, I clutched at his arm.

"I, um, don't think that's such a good idea right now. Besides, it would be too traumatic, too graphic for you to see," he said in a gentle voice. He laid a tentative hand on my elbow, attempting to lead me outside. "How about I drive you home?"

"I don't want to go home!" I twisted my arm out of his reluctant hold. "I want to know why everyone thinks that my mother would shoot herself in the head like that. Why would she do that, Sam?" I made a futile attempt to calm my voice. "You can show me the report, can't you? You said you liked Renee−please, won't you help me understand?" I beseeched him with my eyes, trying to sum up some of the emotion I had felt for him before a greater loss overshadowed everything.

He stared back at me before glancing over to his colleague, who was still lurking behind the desk, gawking at the soap opera scene I was making.

"Come on, Bella. You shouldn't be trying to do stuff like that in the state you're in."

"I am not in a state, Sam! My mother is dead!" I think I might have stomped my foot a little. "I want someone to tell me why, and you treat me like some irrational and embarrassing pain in the ass! I should have known better than to ask you for help," I spat, the vitriol rolling off my tongue. "You left me and then so did she! Nothing makes sense anymore!"

Realizing that I was indeed starting to sound irrational, I fled to my van again. My hands were shaking so badly as I drove off that I began to worry I was a danger to myself and other motorists. Parking a little way down the road, I took off on foot, walking with my head down. I paid no attention to my surroundings, lost entirely in the maelstrom of thoughts in my head.

The sense of disquiet and misgiving that had been nagging away at me since I discovered my mother's body crashed over me like a tidal wave; thoughts that had only been whispered in my subconscious were now front and center.

Above all else, my mom was a kind, caring, and devoted mother. She had never let my brothers or me down, had never neglected or forsaken us. While I was an independent adult, my brothers were completely reliant on her, a responsibility she wholeheartedly embraced. It was gut-wrenchingly painful to think that in depths of her depression, she felt so detached from them−and me−that she thought we would be better off without her. Instead, I regarded her suicide as the ultimate act of selfishness, and I could not−would not−believe that of my mother. Even thinking she had done it made me feel abandoned and betrayed. It was just too inconceivable.

No, I couldn't believe that she left us willingly, which led to the only possible conclusion in my mind.

_She didn't kill herself._

Which meant…the unthinkable.

_Someone murdered her. _

Every doubt and suspicion I'd ever had coalesced in that single moment, firming up my absolute conviction that I was right.

The difficulty was that everyone else believed the officially endorsed verdict. I had talked to everyone that mattered to me, and they had all accepted it as the truth. I had no one to confess my belief to, no one to help me pick the facts apart and examine everything in light of this new knowledge. What I needed was someone outside of the situation, someone truly objective. I needed someone with a keen eye to help me investigate and analyze, someone who could help me put all the pieces together into something irrefutable.

_But who?_

I supposed I could hire a private investigator; they could certainly help me with research. I doubt that any gumshoe would allow me an operational role in the investigation, however, and that's what I wanted−no, _needed. _As my mother's daughter, I felt honor bound to actively pursue this myself, if only in some small way. I owed it to her.

I, Isabella Marie Swan, was going to prove that someone fired a bullet into my mother's head to purposefully end her life, an action that I would bet my bottom dollar was no spur of the moment thing. No, it was premeditated; I felt it deep in my bones.

So, unless I could come up with a better solution, I would have to settle for a private investigator. How the hell did one actually go about finding one?

As my thoughts swirled with possibilities, I began to feel stronger, more coherent and back in control. I noticed my preoccupied trudging had led me to toward the center of town. Businesses had given way to retail stores, and as I passed Port Book and News store, I saw a picture of my mother and a brief headline on a flyer in the window advertising the _Examiner._ I felt a swell of gratitude toward Edward for his thoughtful forewarning this morning. Although it was still somewhat of a jolt to see her face, it wasn't half the shock it could have been.

_Edward…Edward was a journalist. Reporters would have to do research as background for their stories, right? They had to examine the facts...had resources at their disposal to do so…He hadn't known my mother and had no personal involvement with her case, other than compiling the brief biography necessary to write his article. Maybe he could be the completely impartial but experienced investigator that I so needed?_

He had been kind to me when we met in the park, coming to the aid of a complete stranger with his quiet talk and soothing calm. He had been friendly and forgiving, even after I had attacked him in my misplaced rage. Perhaps I could appeal to his generous nature a third time. I would never know if I never asked−nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.

The more I thought about it, the more resolute I became.

I would find Edward and ask for his help.


	9. An Axe to Grind

**Thanks to my beta's, StoryPainter and irelandk, who worked at double speed to beta this after I had a catastrophic email fail. I really appreciate you taking time out of your busy lives to get it done so quickly. **

**I owe Bower-of-Bliss a debt I can never repay. Thanks for you know what.**

**Thanks also to my pre-reader, Shazzio. We've had fun swapping stories this week. Not so much fun for me on "Words with Friends" though. Shazzio is always one step ahead :/**

**Sorry about the one day delay. I take my posting commitment seriously, and hate tardiness. I won't spin some sad story about the why's. **

**Thank you again to the small but dedicated group who review each week. I truly love reading all your thoughts and the things you share with me.**

**SMeyer owns it all. I'm just using her things because I can (sounds like something my kids say when they fight).**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9-An Axe to Grind<strong>

Determined and ready to take the next step, all that was left was to track Edward down. Walking into Port Books and News store, I picked up a copy of the _Examiner_ to check their business address. I also scanned the walls for a clock. It was just before five p.m., so I would have to hurry if I had any hope of catching him at work. I had left my phone in my van during my distracted flight, so I couldn't even call to find out for sure if he was there. Replacing the paper on the stack, I left the store and started walking briskly toward the newspapers' office. I got there just as the receptionist was getting ready to lock up for the night. I told her that I needed to speak with one of the reporters urgently and asked for Edward. She cast an assessing eye over me from head to toe before asking my name and typing something into her computer.

As I waited, I wondered why she had looked at me like that. It was only then that I realized I was still dressed in my dirt smeared jeans, work boots, and the formless sweater I had put on to work on my project this morning. It was too late to remedy any of that now I lamented with an internal groan. I didn't dare sit down and potentially soil the fancy plush armchairs in the small waiting area. A door behind the reception area opened and Edward strode out wearing a bright but cautious smile.

"Bella! Come on back so Jennifer can close up."

Jennifer stared daggers at me as I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide their trembling and followed Edward through the door. He led me through the building and out the back to a large shared office space with partitioned-off cubicles. Pulling a rolling office chair from another desk, he indicated I should take the spare seat as he sat.

"You're lucky to catch me since I'm not here all that much." He looked at me with a concerned expression. "I hope this isn't about the story I did on your mother. I was kind of hoping you'd like it."

He seemed a little apprehensive, and I rushed to reassure him.

"The story was perfect, Edward, better than I could have hoped." I looked down at my hands twisting and fidgeting on my lap, not sure how to start off the loaded conversation I was desperate to have. "Actually, I'm here to ask for help." I look up again, trying to find the words to convince him without sounding insane.

"Oh. Sounds serious." His mouth quirked into his distinctive lop-sided smile, and I felt some of my nervous tension dissipate. "Is it something that'll sound better over a beer?"

I nodded, thinking a little liquid courage would go a long way to helping me get the necessary words out.

Standing, he pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and retrieved a backpack from under the desk.

"Did you drive or do you need a lift?" he asked, shepherding me across the work room toward an external door.

"Shit," I blurted, smacking my hand to my forehead. "I left my van way back over on the other side of town. I…ah…I needed some time to clear my head, so I parked and walked here."

"That's okay, you can ride with me. I skipped lunch, and now I'm starving. I'd take you somewhere fancy to eat, but I don't think they'd allow work boots." He smiled, letting me know he wasn't being reproachful. Walking to a shiny red car, he unlocked the passenger door and held it open for me. Brushing off my jeans, I gingerly climbed into the front seat, worried about soiling the immaculate upholstery.

"Wow." I took in the shiny leather seats and spotless interior. It had that new car smell, that inimitable mix of scents that was hard to pin on any one thing but was instantly recognizable. Edward started the engine and backed out carefully.

"This is my new baby. I needed a car that I could drive on the rough logging roads around here, so I traded my sedan in and got this crossover model." He looked like a little boy proudly showing off a new toy.

"I don't know much about cars," I stated apologetically. "What kind is this?"

"It's a Volvo." He squirmed a little during his confession. "I know most people think of Volvos as cars for old people, but they have an excellent safety rating."

I'm sure I must have looked unconvinced because Edward hastily explained, "My dad's a trauma surgeon. He used to go on and on about how the choice of car could be the difference between instant death and survival with or without catastrophic brain injuries. Kinda stuck with me." He threw me a shy smile. "I went with the metallic fiery red so it doesn't look quite so staid. Plus, everyone knows red makes things go faster."

I snorted. It was such a male thing to say. "My van would look dorky no matter what color it was."

"I can't say I've seen many girls your age driving one of those," he mused, his expression appearing curious. "What do you use it for anyway?"

I explained about my job and how we offered transport for pets, as well as emergency care and recovery, such as when animals had been hit by cars.

Edward parked in front of Bob's Bar 'n Grill. Although the façade looked like generic beer and burger joint, the inside was surprisingly light, warm-looking, and clean. Bypassing the few patrons sitting at the bar, Edward led me to a deserted booth near the back. After we had placed our order for drinks and food, he looked at me earnestly, raising an eyebrow.

"So, Bella, you want to tell me what's going on? You look like you're fit to burst with something. Are you ready to spill now?"

"I…I…the autopsy result came back today, and I got a letter," I stuttered out. "I just kept thinking and wondering until it all got too much. I took off and tried to talk to Sam, but that didn't work so well." I knew I was babbling, so I took a minute to calm myself. "Then I thought of you."

His smile was so wide, I was almost dazzled by the force of it. "I'm flattered you thought of me." His smile faltered as he scanned me, taking in my agitation. "Wait, you took off? Left your family? They must be worried about you after receiving that kind of news. Do they know where you are?"

I shook my head, suddenly ashamed of myself. I knew they would be fretting about me.

Edward fished his phone out of his pocket and pushed it across the table toward me. "Here, call or message them. They'll understand."

Murmuring my thanks, I sent a quick text to Esme telling her that I was safe and with a friend. That attended to, I knew I had to tell Edward why we were here. Swallowing convulsively, I considered and discarded several opening statements. I was nervous, worried that I would send him off yelling for the nearest psychiatrist to come assess me. In the end, I couldn't find an easy way to say what I wanted and just blurted the words out in a rush.

"Idon'tthinkshedidit."

"Wha−?" Edward's eyebrows rose. "Repeat that. Slowly this time."

Taking in a deep breath, I looked at the ceiling and reiterated. "I don't think she did it. My mom, I mean. I don't think she killed herself." I flicked my gaze back to his face, feeling braver now that I had made a start.

"Okkkaaaaay…" Edward responded, looking slightly confused. "What do you think happened?"

"I think someone murdered her." As I uttered the words aloud for the first time, I sat up straighter, the strength of my conviction giving me the courage to do this for my mother.

"And you want me to do _what _about it?" He looked both concerned and slightly curious, which made me feel that I wasn't completely wasting his time.

"As I said earlier, I need your help. I have no idea where to start, but I _have_ to prove it, to make things right." Even more anxious now, I picked at my cuticles, staring at my fidgeting hands before making a confession. "I was a shitty daughter and our last conversation was an argument. Even then, my mom always tried to help me, was always looking out for me. It's my turn now. I have to do this for her and for my brothers."

"And you think I can help, how?"

Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress arriving with our order, and I took a welcome gulp of my beer as Edward put ketchup on his fries.

"You're a reporter, Edward," I noted, stating the obvious. "I assume that involves a fair amount of checking into details, stuff like that. Isn't that how you work your way up the ranks, doing all that grunt work on background info? As I said, I don't have the first idea where to begin. All I know is that if I don't do something, everyone is just going to swallow the lie and there will never be any justice for my mom."

"Writing newspaper columns about garage sales and school concerts are one thing, Bella," Edward sputtered. "Investigating a murder is another! I hardly think that qualifies me for the kind of job you're suggesting."

"But you said so yourself, you worked in a bigger place before moving to PA," I said, my voice a touch desperate-sounding. "It must have been huge compared to here, and you would have done a lot of background research. I'm sure you reported on things a lot more provocative than community events. There is a reason you got assigned the call-out to cover my mom's death."

"I was part of the team that covered the police and court beat back in Chicago," he admitted grudgingly. "Yes, I might know a bit about chasing facts, but trying to prove that someone killed your mother is a whole other ballgame. What did the police say?" he asked me cautiously.

"The coroner has listed it as a suicide, and that's what the police are going with." I leaned forward, staring at him intently as I said what was in my heart. "But I don't believe it," I contended.

Edward's eyes softened, and he reached out to grasp one of my hands. "Bella…anyone can tell the loss of your mother has hit you hard. I didn't know her, and I don't want to presume anything about her life−or yours for that matter−but you said you wanted my help, right?"

I nodded emphatically, squeezing his hand with mine.

"I don't mean to sound heartless, but thousands of people commit suicide for every conceivable reason every year. Those reasons might not make sense to you and me, but they do to that person at that particular time. I understand that the people who get left behind struggle with guilt and agony over the sheer senselessness of it all. I'm sure any explanation other than the obvious seems infinitely easier to swallow." Edward regarded me closely. "What if we did look into this and found that she really did do it?" His long fingers gently stroked mine as if to diminish the effect of his words. "How is that going to make you feel?"

I was caught by the concern and tenderness I could see in his eyes. He was genuinely worried about me I realized with a pang. I carefully considered what he said, how the knowledge might affect me.

"It would be devastating, but I _would_ accept it," I decided, my voice firm. "I don't think I could ever understand it, but at least I would know I had exhausted every avenue to make things right. I'd feel satisfied I had done all I possibly could for my mom, right to the end."

Appearing content with my assurance, Edward didn't press me about the issue any further. "The big question I have for you then, is who? I know movie writers thrive on conspiracy theories, but this isn't Hollywood. Your mom was a suburban teacher and PTA member. Who'd want to kill her and why?"

"My gut feeling is her husband, Phil, did it." I never referred to him as my step-father if I could avoid it. It was too familiar, the title implying he was more to me than he was. "I don't know how he managed it, or why, but I intend to find out." My eyes bored into his, pleading for him to believe me, to hear me.

He sighed deeply. "I have to ask then. Bella, are you sure?" His eyes held mine, seeking answers or assurances. "Because if we do this−and I'm not agreeing yet−we are going to open one huge can of worms. People are going to question your motives, integrity, and very sanity." He leaned in even closer. "There might be all kinds of consequences you haven't even thought of."

"Yes," I declared firmly. "I told you, I have to do this, no matter what the cost. If you do agree, I'm willing to pay you. I don't know how this type of arrangement works, but I'm prepared to do almost anything."

Releasing my hand, Edward pulled his plate closer. "I've never done this kind of thing either, Bella. When I worked for the _Times_, my boss would give me an assignment and off I'd go. I never moonlighted on private work like some of the senior reporters did, mostly for book deals, things like that." Taking a bite of his burger, he chewed, deep in thought. I picked at my sweet potato fries, my stomach still knotted although my nervousness had abated somewhat.

"If I agree to help you−and that's a big _if_−you'll have to convince me why you think she was murdered. Feeling isn't enough." He took a sip of his beer and peered at me over the rim of his glass. "You need to persuade me, make me believe it too. If I'm going to put myself on the line for this, I need to be as sure as you are."

"All right." I tried to gather my thoughts, to assemble all my arguments into some cohesive and logical order. "Well, for a start, her diary was full of appointments and things to do. If she hadn't meant to be around, she would have cancelled them."

Edward made a buzzing nose. "Fail! Not good enough. Your mother was a _woman_," he said with a teasing smile. "Women have been known to change their minds and alter plans."

I felt myself bristle at his sexist insinuation until I saw the cheeky look in his eye. He was playing the devil's advocate to get a rise out of me.

"Not my Mom. She was a planner," I argued. "She led a busy life between her work, Phil's business and other commitments, and the boys. It took a lot of juggling and skill, and Mom had to be organized to get everything done. She was obsessive about maintaining her diary and calendar, so she didn't miss anything, and always had to-do lists going." I took another sip of my beer. "That's why I was surprised she didn't leave a note, and that she hadn't made a will. When she planned a party, she would instruct people what to do down to the smallest detail. If she really wanted to kill herself, she would have organized her own funeral and affairs. She would have left a comprehensive schedule outlining who she wanted to attend to what."

Finishing his mouthful, Edward nodded slowly, conceding me the point.

"Then there were her clothes. She was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt that had seen better days when I found her." I rolled my eyes and smiled nostalgically. "I don't think I've ever seen my mother without make-up, and she wouldn't have been caught dead−" I choked on my words. Chugging some of my beer, I tried again. "She wouldn't have wanted to be seen that way," I whispered, attempting to contain the fresh surge of grief my misspoken words had stirred. "She would have dressed better, and her make-up would have been done."

My thoughts started to pick up pace, and the words flowed easier, too. "She had been sad and stressed, and I'll admit her drinking was verging on reckless at times." I explained how Mom had wanted a divorce, and related all the things I had learned from my aunt and uncle in recent days. "Despite all her troubles, Mom never once said that her life was so bad she wanted to die. She was the eternal optimist. She even went to a doctor to get help and started on some medication. The doctor wouldn't have given her a prescription for sleeping pills if she had expressed suicidal thoughts."

"She might have known that and just not told him or her, did you think of that?" Edward countered. "Maybe she knew that people would try to stop her if they knew what she was planning."

"She left a letter with her lawyer for me. She said she thought someone was trying to get rid of her," I added, relating how I got the letter and what it said. "Then there is the fact that she died in her bedroom at home, while my brothers were in the house, without any other adult present. She'd never have wanted to traumatize them in that way. What if they had realized she was dead? What if they hadn't called me? How long might they have stayed there on their own until someone found them? Anything could have happened to them," I added, feeling my outrage at the thought rise.

"Bella−" Edward tried at say something, but I cut him off.

"No, Edward! The person I knew would never have wanted any harm to come to my brothers, or me for that matter. She wouldn't have wanted me to see her in that state either." My hands had begun shaking, spilling icy beer over the edge of the glass I still clutched. Taking a large ragged breath, I set my glass down carefully and hid my hands under the table. "If she had wanted to kill herself, she would have gone off somewhere, where nobody knew her, and where no one else could have interrupted. She would have found a way to alert the police or somebody like that after, someone who would be better to able to handle that kind of thing."

I slumped against the back of my chair, beginning to feel exhausted and strung out by the emotion and effort this was taking. It was a huge relief that Edward was listening so intently as I unburdened myself of every inkling and notion I had, and I was beginning to feel the aftereffects of the accumulation of adrenaline.

"Okay," Edward murmured, looking at me with concern. "I can see how you might come to the conclusion that she didn't kill herself." As he ate a few fries, he seemed to be considering something, his brows drawn together. "I know from the police talk that a firearm was found at the scene. Do you know where it came from?"

"I have no idea. Mom was very anti- guns, especially with the boys in the house. My uncle was surprised about that, too." Picking up one of my lukewarm fries, I nibbled at it half-heartedly.

"Maybe it was Phil's?" Edward suggested.

I considered it for half a minute before shaking my head. "She never spoke of Phil having a gun, and I really don't think she would have allowed him to keep one in the house. Why would he need one anyway?"

"This is America," he said with a serious expression. "You don't need a reason. It's in our constitution; therefore, it must be a good idea."

I rolled my eyes and smiled. The tension and anxiety had gradually started to ease as we'd been talking, almost as if the telling purged some of the pressure that had been building inside me over the course of the day. As the knots in my stomach lessened, I began to nibble at my food with a little more enthusiasm.

"Okay, so we'll leave the question of the weapon for another time." Pushing his empty plate aside, he took another long pull of his beer. "You've outlined some reasons why you don't think she killed herself, now give me some for motive. What makes you think Phil did it?" he questioned.

"I can talk on that all day," I admitted with a grim smile. "Phil was very possessive of anything he considered his. He also had a passionate hatred of being proved wrong. Mom wanted to leave him, and it would be just like Phil to subscribe to the theory that if he couldn't have her, no one else could either. It would also save him the public embarrassment of his marriage failing."

"Drastic way of avoiding potential awkwardness if you ask me," Edward declared. "Lots of people get divorced without anyone batting an eyelid."

"My aunt and uncle told me that he hit my mom when she told him that she wanted out of their marriage. An accusation of domestic violence could put a serious dent in his reputation in a place like this."

"It could," Edward agreed. "In the context of a marital breakdown, though, he could garner some public sympathy. Before you get upset with me, I'm not saying it's right," Edward added hastily, his hands extending in front of him in a placating gesture. "I don't condone family violence for any reason. I'm just saying _some_ people might identify with feeling so pushed to the limit that one might act irresponsibly and out-of-character when passions are running hot."

I tried to look at it from that point of view, regardless of how personally abhorrent I found it. "Phil's always been very caught up in maintaining the image of respectability. Having the perfect Cleaver-style family, impressive house, and booming business was important to him. He often said you had to appear successful to be successful." I rolled my eyes. "In my opinion, realtors are one step up from used car salesmen. Their suits just cost more."

I took another mouthful of beer and ate a few of my fries before continuing. "Then there was Phil's reaction when he came to the house. I know he said he had been told the news already, but he didn't seem shocked or upset at all. He was more worried about strangers being in the house, and he didn't even ask about my brothers. For someone so image conscious, he certainly hasn't been acting like a grief stricken husband."

Stacking our empty plates together, I waved for the waitress and ordered more drinks. "I think what really set off my alarm bells, though, was his insistence on cremating her. He was just so set on it. He hadn't organized or finalized a single other detail, but the cremation is all arranged and booked in advance. It's all a little suspicious and made me wonder why it was so important."

"And why do you think it's important to him?" Edward queried.

"You can't get any evidence from ashes. He's making sure there won't be another opportunity for any kind of forensic examination."

"Hmmm. It's still not enough to accuse a man of murder. Were there any business deals gone bad? Some other financial reason or incentive for taking your mom out of the picture?" queried Edward.

"Not as far as I know, but then Phil never talked about anything like that with me. I'll keep my eyes and ears open for anything like that from now on."

"Okay then," he said with a nod. "You've given me some things to think about, and I promise I'll consider your proposal. I'll call you with my answer sometime over the next few days, if that's okay. What's your number?"

I found myself grinning in reply, elated that he was giving me a chance. I rattled off my number and he typed it into the contact list on his phone.

We sat and made pleasant small talk as we finished off our drinks. When it was time to leave, we argued good-naturedly about who was going to pay the check. Edward won, since _he_ said he had invited _me_. I conceded, only after wresting a promise from him that next time was my treat. He smugly accepted, stating he couldn't wait. It was raining and completely dark by the time we emerged, and Edward told me wait under the covered porch to keep dry as he brought his car up to the curb. When we pulled off the road to park by my car, I went to open the door. My words of thanks died in my throat as Edward reached across to lay his hand on my shoulder.

"I just wanted to say thank you, Bella. I know it must have been hard to open up to someone, especially considering the nature of what you had to reveal." His fingers tightened and gently squeezed my shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me with it."

The warmth of his hand permeated my layers of damp clothing, thawing something inside of me. I took in his face, drinking in his sincere expression and the intensity sparkling in his captivating green eyes.

"Thanks for listening, Edward. I feel like my emotions are all over the place at the moment," I replied in a soft voice. "I don't know how you do it, but whenever I talk with you, I leave feeling the ground under my feet again."

I pushed myself out into the night, not feeling the rain soaking my hair or the cold creeping into my clothes. The warm feeling on my shoulder stayed as I was embraced like the prodigal son when I returned to the Cullen's, surrounded by caring arms, big and small. I read a bedtime story to my brothers and we talked to the picture of mom together, sharing parts of our day with her. I curled up on the couch beside my aunt and uncle, watching some mindless TV before crawling into bed with Alice. As I lay listening to her breathing even out with sleep, I nursed that kernel of warmth, feeling it spread all over me like a blanket.

The heavy pall of grief was still there. I had lost too much for it to go away so easily. However, after my spur-of-the-moment meeting with Edward, for the first time in days, I felt hope.


	10. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Thank you's to my beat team of StoryPainter and irelandk.**

**Thanks again also to Bower-of-Bliss for her technical support last chapter. I'm still having similar issues but have passed them along further up the chain ;)**

**Hugs and kissed to my pre-reader Shazzio. Thanks for sharing your special time with Nino. **

**Thanks to the lovely AlexaC, this story now has a thread on Twilighted. I'm very excited about it, even though I can't log on until I get my password. Please check it out and have a chat. The link is: www . twilighted . net / forum / viewtopic . php?f=44&t=22005 (remember to remove the spaces).**

**Warning: Tissues may be required. If past memories of funerals trigger flashbacks or overwhelming feelings of grief, you may want to skim over parts of this chapter.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10-Death by a Thousand Cuts.<strong>

Tuesday felt like a day of waiting.

When I got home the night before from my outing with Edward, Carlisle let me know that Mom's funeral had been set for Wednesday. I was surprised how quickly Phil seemed to want everything settled. I supposed dragging it out just meant extending the grief-stricken inertia we all seemed to be caught in, waiting for the final event that would signal the end of the formal and public processes that marked the end of Mom's life. I knew that it was my difficulty coming to terms with the final separation from her that made me feel so ill-prepared and on edge. Once the funeral and wake were over, it would be time to return to real life. Some allowances would be made as we adjusted to our loss, but by and large, outsiders would expect us to get on with the business of living. It was yet another adjustment I had to make, another thing for my brain to try to integrate.

The day was busy with preparations for the funeral and gathering afterward, yet it dragged, thoughts of what was to come all-consuming. I felt a peculiar mix of expectation and dread.

In the morning, we put the finishing touches on Mom's garden. Someone came to install the water feature the previous afternoon while I was off on my mad flight. All that remained was to place the angel statue. Everyone came out for the big event, and Carlisle and I both hefted an end each to carefully lower it into place. I asked the boys to help me push it to face the right direction, smiling at their grunts of effort, while I put the true muscle behind it. I wanted them to feel a part of what we had created, to feel the same sense of connection to it as I did.

Afterward, Alice and I took the boys back to our place for a while. They played with Edna in the backyard while we made phone calls, tidied up, did some laundry, and chose clothing for the funeral. Once that was done, we all climbed up into our cavernous attic to go through boxes of family mementos, hunting for photos of Mom, Esme, and their parents. In our search, Alice uncovered an old cigar box full of battered toy tin soldiers that must have belonged to Grandpa. The sounds of Afton and Corin playing war echoed around the exposed rafters as Alice and I sorted through musty boxes and yellowed scrapbooks.

In one of the scrapbooks, I found a page cut out of a magazine advertising floor plans for new display homes. There, in gorgeous color, was our house as it had been in its heyday. I stared at the creamy-yellow exterior, green shutters, and quaint roof shingles. Inspired, I showed Alice, explaining that working on Mom's garden had started me thinking about renovating. Seeing how fresh and clean it could look convinced me, my eagerness rubbing off on Alice. We talked excitedly about modern plumbing and heating, making plans to pool funds, hire tradesmen and buy new appliances once things had settled a little after Mom's funeral.

When the boys complained about their "grumbly" tummies, we washed off the visible layers of dirt, dusted their clothes down, and found the nearest drive-thru for a quick lunch. Afterward, we dropped off a few notices, outlining the details of the funeral, to Mom's work, Afton's school, and Corin's daycare center. We even stuck one on the outside of Phil's office. Mourners were asked to wear bright colors and to make donations toward a scholarship fund we would be creating in Mom's name.

Once back at the Cullens', we changed quickly before taking the boys to their first therapy session with Dr. Goff. We must have made an interesting sight to others in the waiting room; four nervous adults chaperoning two well behaved and angelic-looking children. She spent some time with them individually and then together. After, she gave us an overview of what she had covered with them, assuring us that they were coping as well as could be expected at their age. It was encouraging to know we were doing and saying all the right things to make it easier for them to understand.

The rest of the afternoon and much of the evening was devoted to compiling the montage of photos and video footage which would be shown during Mom's service. We spent hours poring through pictures and reminiscing, laughing and crying as we shared our memories of better times. Well, everyone else cried. Although I felt tears prick my eyes often, something still stopped me from shedding them.

Alice also manned the camcorder, taping contributions for the service from everyone. Esme had suggested it, saying she wouldn't be able to hold herself together during the service to say what she wanted. I thought it was a great compromise and felt relieved to have the opportunity to choose a way to pay tribute without getting upset or nervous about delivering it. I couldn't decide between my two ideas, so Alice ended up recording both. I said all the things I wished I'd gotten the chance to say, if I had known our phone conversation was to be our last. I also read a poem I came across that reminded me of Mom.

Once my brothers were safely tucked in bed, Carlisle and I drove over to the funeral home. Although Phil declined to hold an open viewing session, as it got closer to the time for the funeral I felt more and more that I needed to see Mom one last time. I wanted to replace the final image of her on her bed with something else, something less traumatic. Although I was uncertain and nervous about she might look like, I knew that if I missed this last opportunity, I might come to regret it later. Esme understood, although she had no desire to go herself, saying she had more than enough happy memories to keep Mom alive in her mind. Alice had been horrified, and thought the whole idea was morbid and unnecessary. Carlisle offered to take me, saying that I should have someone to support me and drive me home after. He phoned the home and arranged everything, even offering to look first and tell me what to expect, and to be with me through the whole visit.

In the end, I decided that I preferred to spend the time with Mom on my own.

It hadn't been as shocking or gruesome as I built it up in my mind. Her face was slightly puffy, but otherwise, she looked as she did when she slept. Her skin was smooth and relaxed, her hair done and make-up applied so she looked like herself. Mercifully, all traces of the bullet wound that had killed her were artfully hidden by careful arrangement of her hair. Someone had even painted her nails, a touch that made me smile, thinking how much Mom would have appreciated it. She looked young and beautiful. My heart clenched with the bitter irony of her lying there, ready for the end of her world, instead of the rest of the life she so deserved. I carefully placed the letters we had all written in the casket next to her legs, along with the drawings the boys had made. I slid a photo taken of my brothers and me together under her clasped hands. A single tear trickled down my face as I stroked a finger along her cold cheek. As I leaned over to kiss her and whisper goodbye, I felt my emptiness grow. Even though it hurt, I was glad I had come, finding some consolation in ensuring she looked the way I wished to remember her.

That night, despite my tiredness, I found myself too wound up to sleep. While Alice dreamed, I lay awake for hours, remembering.

Thinking.

Longing.

It was well after midnight when our bedroom door was pushed open a crack, allowing a sliver of light to spill across the comforter. I sat up, expecting one of the boys, perhaps in need of the bathroom or disturbed by a nightmare. Instead, I watched as Edna padded silently over, her heavy tail waving languidly as she came around to my side of the bed. She laid her furry chin on the mattress, her brown eyes glinting in the muted light as she regarded me. As she stared at me in a very human and knowing way, I felt all my surface worries melt away. I was completely emotionally naked, my emptiness exposed before her searching look. It was very odd, yet somehow completely normal at the same time. Something in her, a fluffy yellow dog, reached out to touch me, a bereft and lost human.

Her head bobbed forward, her moist nose nudging me repeatedly until I shuffled over. With an agile leap, Edna was on the bed, turning in an awkward circle in the limited space between the tangle of limbs at the foot of the bed. Stepping toward my pillow delicately until we were nose to nose, she lay down, her head coming to rest on her forelegs facing me. I reached out and stroked her silky ears. Edna huffed appreciatively, and her tongue came out to lazily lick my hand as her eyes closed.

Edna had not started life as the pampered family member she was now. Responding to a recovery call from a landlord about some animals abandoned by a tenant who had skipped out, Esme had found Edna and several other animals in a pitiful state. Several cats had been left inside the locked house, surviving on the rats that lived in the refuse inside. The house had been full of broken furniture, rubbish, and waste, both human and animal. The cats were mangy and full of sores, the result of fighting and disease. Edna, along with some kind of small, cross-breed terrier and a rabbit had been found in a shed at the rear of the property. The terrier had been old and crippled by previous untreated injuries. The black and white rabbit had long hair so matted, it had to be cut away in places. They had no idea where the rabbit came from, nor why it was cohabitating with animals it should be afraid of, but it had been clear that all three had indeed been living together peaceably. The shed's only external door had been nailed shut. The animals had limited access to water from holes in the roof where a leaky drainpipe dripped water into a rusty drum, but no food. It appeared Edna had been squeezing in and out of a broken window to forage for the others. The remains of torn trash bags and take-out food packaging littered the floor. When Esme broke open the door to peer inside, she found Edna curled protectively around her companions. All were emaciated, and Edna weighed less than half the average weight of an adult retriever. They had been taken back to the clinic for assessment and treatment. Sadly, most of the cats had to be euthanized, too ill or savage to be rehabilitated. The rabbit had recovered and been adopted out.

Esme herself cared for and treated Edna and Fred, as the aged terrier had been christened. They got their old fashioned names because we had joked they were like an oddly matched, old married couple, never straying too far from each other. They fretted if they were separated, and since Fred had so many health problems, they stayed at the clinic for an extended time. As Edna recovered, her friendly and loving nature had quickly become apparent, and soon she was everyone's favorite. The vet nurses would often let Edna out of her and Fred's pen while they were attending their chores. Fred didn't seem to mind as long as he could still see her. They soon learned Edna had a gift: her presence often calmed other skittish or distressed animals. Her effect on their owners was even better. Few could resist her bright eyes and wagging tale, and some even swore she could smile in a doggy, toothy way.

When Fred recovered, Esme adopted both since two dogs were always harder to find a good home for, and Fred's age and disability also made him a less desirable pet. Besides, no one had the heart to split them up. They spent a year living the high life and being thoroughly spoiled, until Fred passed away peacefully in his sleep. Edna was so depressed, she refused to eat for several days, constantly shadowing Esme wherever she went. Thinking that she might miss company and activity, Esme started taking her to work, worried about leaving her on her own so long. After a week or two, Edna began to interact more, seeking out animals coming in for treatment and mingling with people in the waiting area. Few ever saw her as a threat, despite her size, and Edna always seemed to know instinctively which people or animals to approach and which to leave alone.

_Yes, Edna is very special_, I thought to myself as I cuddled up to her. There was something soothing about her presence and manner, her warmth and calm caressing me like a blanket. I made the most of it, letting it relax me as I rhythmically stroked along her head and feathery coat. Soon, I was lulled into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When I woke in the morning, both Edna and Alice were gone. I stretched lethargically, enjoying the quiet and space of having the whole bed to myself. It felt lazy and indulgent lying in bed awake, but I was unwilling to move and alter that just yet. Just as I was wondering if I could get away with staying here all day, thoughts of what we were going to be doing in a few hours landed on me like a lead balloon. I felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of me. For a few moments, I drowned in feelings of misery and panic, wondering how I was going to get through it all. Struggling, I pushed the feelings down, burying them deep inside until all I felt was numb. When I felt I had sufficient control to act rationally again, I got up and went downstairs, throwing myself into the numerous last minute preparations.

I did such a great job of muting everything I was feeling that, later, I could only recall parts of the day as a series of images.

There was the snapshot view of us all gathered in the entry hall ready to leave for the funeral, a veritable rainbow of color as our bright and best finery lent a false impression of gaiety. Another, an image of the foyer of the church, where a huge pin board had been erected, also proved memorable. The board fluttered with what appeared to be hundreds of different colored Post-It notes of various size and shapes. People had written messages on each one; condolences, memories, and love were handwritten, interspersed with photos people had bought along of Mom. More mourners were lined up at the small table that had been set up, patiently waiting their turn to compose and add their own offering. It was moving to see that so many had so much to say about her.

Other images weren't so pleasant. I was rocked from my numb little trance by the sound of Phil's voice. He stood in front of the pine coffin, its varnished sides decorated with hand painted dark pink roses. An arrangement of matching fresh roses adorned the top of it, my view of them blocked by Phil, dressed in his sober black suit. A surge of anger and hatred burned me like acid, and it was only then that I noticed his parents and brother had all dressed the same, the only attendees who had done so. We had discussed it during our meeting with Father Banner, everyone−including Phil−agreeing that since Mom disliked wearing black, we would ask mourners to wear bright colors as a tribute to her. My loathing intensified as he stood with his head bowed, crying his crocodile tears. He spoke of the tragic loss of his beloved, saying he hoped that she had at last found peace from her private pain and sense of hopelessness. He went on about how he would now have to be father and mother to his precious sons. I seethed, his hypocrisy and egocentric sentiments cutting me like a thousand knives. Realizing that I would cause some sort of scene if I couldn't restrain myself, I wrestled to find my sense of inner calm again. I pulled my passive disinterest around myself tightly once again.

Afton's voice pierced my cloak of forced detachment sometime later. I barely looked at the stream of pictures that flashed on the screen up front. I only glanced at it when Afton, who was sitting on my lap, patted me on the cheek and cried out "There's Mommy!" as he pointed. I heard my own recorded voice whispering the poem I had chosen as the montage played on, but didn't register the words, lost and almost insensible in my own private agony.

Afton again brought me back to the moment, squeezing my hand tightly while we walked behind Mom's coffin as it was carried down the aisle. As we left the church, I caught sight of the colorfully attired crowd waiting outside. There must have been more than two hundred people gathered, I observed with astonishment. Some were still inside, but many had overflowed into the forecourt outside, all standing and bearing silent witness as the coffin was loaded into the hearse.

Looking down at the small hand clutched in mine, I felt a momentary pang of failure. I had volunteered to be Afton's support person during the service, yet I had been next to useless, too wrapped up to do more than cuddle him or hold his hand. My eyes sought out my other brother, hoping he had been better looked after. He had become so clingy that there had been no disagreement when Esme stated she would take care of him. They were right behind us, Esme weeping noiselessly, carrying Corin who was wrapped like a limpet around her chest. Alice had her arm draped around them both. Carlisle had been one of the pallbearers, moving to join us once the hearse pulled away. My dad appeared looking forlorn and sad, Sue clutching his hand in an uncharacteristic public display of comfort and reassurance. I hadn't even been aware of his arrival earlier.

As people crowded around us wanting to pass on their condolences, I slipped back into my muted reverie, shaking hands and seemingly making enough appropriate replies to the endless stream of people. The wake was more of the same, and I found myself unable to recall exactly who I had spoken to or about what. Afton had disappeared to play with some friends from school who had attended with their mothers, friends of Mom's. My only clear recollection was being cornered by a huge young man, his red shirt straining to contain the bulky muscles that threatened to burst forth at any minute. I smiled politely and tried to extract myself.

"Bella? I need to talk to you. Don't you recognize me?" the man hissed, trying to keep his voice low and composed, nervously looking around to see if anyone had noticed our odd behavior. I glared up at his face, and was almost ready to sneer some obscenity when I realized I did know him. He was older than when I had seen him last and had grown enormously, his mature and heavy features almost obscuring signs of the weedy and soft boy I had known.

"Jacob? Are you here with Rachael?" I looked around in confusion, searching for the face of my best friend. Jake Black was her brother, younger than us by a good five to six years, if I was remembering correctly. Being so much older, we had never paid much attention to him when we hung out together, dismissing him completely as the annoying and bratty brother. He hung out with a group of other rowdy and irritating boys at the reservation where they grew up, our paths not crossing much, especially in the last few years.

"Rachael doesn't come back for another week. She said she told you that." His brown eyes bored into mine. "Look, I have to tell you something, but I can't do it here. Can I contact you sometime soon?"

I wasn't really comfortable with that, and I told him so.

"Bella, I'm begging you," Jake pleaded. He looked down at his shoes, his jaw clenching convulsively. When he looked back up, I could see the shine of tears. "It…it's something to do with your mom. I was a student in her class and we…" He threw his head back and scrubbed at his face with his huge hands. "It's important you hear the truth from me before it gets twisted. She meant a lot to me, and I won't let that be fucked with." His voice cracked at the end. Wiping his face again, he backed away. "I'll be in touch," he promised before hurrying out the door with his head down. I stood staring at the doorway for a moment, puzzled. Shrugging my shoulders, I wandered around looking for my Dad.

I tried to pull myself together, attempting to stay grounded and shake off some of the numbness. I found him outside, whispering with Carlisle. As soon as they saw me approaching, they stopped their hushed conversation, both looking slightly guilty.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, sure they must have been talking about me, judging by the abrupt end of their exchange.

"Nothing's wrong," Carlisle moved to assure me. "I just overheard Phil talking to his parents about heading off soon for the cremation. Your dad and I were just discussing whether or not you felt that was something you needed to be there for."

"Oh." I hadn't even thought that would be possible. His words struck a chord in me, the same one that had felt the need to see her and be with her last night. "Can I?"

"Bella? Are you really sure you want to do that?" asked Charlie, his hand reaching out to rest on my arm, drawing me close enough that he could stare into my eyes. His brow was furrowed with concern.

"I don't know what it is, Dad, but I just know I need to follow this all through right to the end." I patted the hand resting on my arm and tried to smile in a reassuring way. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"You shouldn't go alone," Carlisle argued. "Would you like me to come with you again?"

I looked from my dad to Carlisle, considering my options. "Thanks, but you should probably stay with Aunt Esme. I'm sure Dad could take me. I would appreciate it, though, if you check with Phil. Now that I know it's a possibility, I really want to go, but I don't want there to be any arguments about me being there." He nodded and went back inside to find Phil.

"Would you mind, Dad? I'd feel better with you there." I didn't know whether it would weird him out, but I agreed that it would probably be better to have some support just in case.

"I'll help you through this anyway I can," he said softly. "I'll just go tell Sue that we'll be disappearing for a while so she can call Leah to come pick her up. Go tell the family so they won't worry, and then we'll go."

Returning to the church hall, I found my aunt and Alice and explained where I was going. I also chased down the boys to let them know I had to go do something for our mommy and would be gone a while. Armored with kisses and hugs, I said goodbyes to people I passed on my way back out the front. Sue and Dad were waiting, and after a hug from Sue, we left in Dad's car. I closed my eyes on the ride to the crematorium, my head again swirling with thoughts. I didn't know which was worse: the questions and concerns circling like a whirlpool in my head, or the thick blanket of numbness that subdued everything but left me unable to think or function at full capacity.

The numbness won, the sense of detachment giving me some welcome respite, at least for a short time more. It was only when I caught sight of the familiar rose-painted coffin drifting past the special viewing window that I returned to my senses again. I watched as two attendants in white coats wheeled the trolley toward a boxy metal door. I moved closer to the window for a better look, only then becoming aware that Phil was standing at the window next to me and doing the same. My eyes barely skimmed over him, his staying fixed on the coffin. I looked behind me into the small, sterile room, registering the drone of a strange voice. A man in a suit was explaining the procedure to my dad and Phil's brother, Marcus, the only other people present. Ignoring them again, I turned back to watch the attendants opening the metal door, revealing the small rectangular chamber within. One of the men produced a sheaf of papers, and together the attendants appeared to be going over it, both checking a label that had been affixed to the side of the coffin against their list. Seemingly satisfied all was in order, they slipped the coffin from the trolley into the chamber, closing and securing the door. One of them pressed a keypad set to the side of the door, and a red light came on.

"I loved you, Renee," whispered Phil in a barely audible voice. "It didn't have to end this way."

I could only just make out his voice since we were standing almost shoulder to shoulder, both of us peering intently through the viewing window. Having said his piece, he turned away.

I ceased thinking about him or the meaning of his parting words the minute he disappeared from my peripheral vision. I kept my eyes fastened on the glowing red light, the only outward sign of what was going on within the chamber that I could see. I don't know how much time had passed when my dad came and touched my hand to get my attention.

"Bella, sweetheart?" I knew he was worried about me. Dad hadn't called me sweetheart since I turned double digits. "That fella said it'll probably take about three hours to be done. I think we should go back now."

I allowed him to lead me outside to the car, surprised to find it was still daylight out. I felt like I had been staring at that red light forever. As he pulled the car out of the parking lot, I spoke in a subdued voice.

"Can you take me home? To my place, I mean." I stared straight ahead, not really taking in which way we were headed.

"Sure," he said hesitantly. "We can stop by to get whatever you need."

"I want to stay there tonight," I said firmly, turning to face him. "I need to be by myself for a bit."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He looked at me, worry and apprehension etching his face.

"I'm sure, Dad. You of all people should know that sometimes only your own company will do." I knew he was one of the few people who would appreciate my craving for solitude.

He sighed. "They're not going to like it, you know. I'm going to get chewed out for leaving you on your own."

I snickered half-heartedly. "Better you than me."

The last few miles passed in silence again, both of us consumed by our private thoughts. When he pulled into my driveway, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned across to give him a hug.

"Thanks for everything. I promise I'll be all right on my own. I'll call and let everyone know where I am, okay?"

Dad hugged me back fiercely, his voice gruff with emotion as he told me to take care of myself. I got out and stood watching as he pulled away, waving until I couldn't see his car anymore. Fishing the spare key out of its hiding place, I let myself in and kicked off my shoes, wandering idly around the house. After a while, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, sending a text to Alice to say where I was and that I didn't want company for now. I made sure to confirm that I'd be calling to talk to the boys before bedtime as a sweetener.

Looking at the clock, I was startled to see it was well after five, and I contemplated what I wanted to do next. I couldn't remember when I'd eaten last, but I wasn't hungry, certain that if I ate it would just sit in my stomach like a rock. We had cleaned and straightened when we came over yesterday, so I couldn't even occupy myself with that. I rambled around some more, picking up things here and there, examining them briefly and setting them down again. Beginning to feel restless, I went outside, and crouching to pull a weed growing between the cracked cement of the path, decided that a bit of weeding would keep my hands busy. Bending to it, I worked without much thought until the gathering dark reminded me of the time. Returning inside to make my call, I spoke first to Carlisle, then Alice, and finally Esme, repeating over and over that I was indeed okay and content on my own. Finally, I got to talk to my brothers. I could hear them arguing hotly over who got to chat to me first.

Corin won. "Bell Bell, watcha doin'?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

"I'm talking to you on the phone," I replied teasingly.

"Yeah!" There was a long, empty pause. "Why?"

"Because I love you, and this is the first night since you came to Auntie Essie's that I haven't been there to kiss you goodnight."

"Oh." I could hear his heavy breath whispering over the receiver. "Are you coming back soon? Mommy went somewhere and now she can't come back."

"Honey, Mommy died, remember? Daddy told you, and the nice lady with the great toys talked to you about it too." The psychologist had said children of Corin's age needed to be reminded often, having little understanding of the permanency of death. "I promise you that I'm not dead, and I'll be back in the morning, okay?"

"Okay." I could hear a scuffle happening and the phone crackled with noise. "No, you can't! It's still my turn−"

"Hey, Bella!" Afton sounded triumphant, and I rolled my eyes at the thought of them squabbling over whose turn it was to talk. "Mommy would have liked her party today, wouldn't she?"

"She would have loved it," I confirmed. "Did you see how many friends she had? Everyone loved our mommy." I started doodling on the pad of scrap paper we kept handy in the kitchen.

"Yeah. They were sad she wasn't there and some of them cried, even the boys," he said with exasperation.

"We did tell you that people would be sad, just like we are, now that mommy's gone. Lots of people loved her just like we did." My pen dug into the paper, creating a small tear.

"But she loved us bestest, didn't she?" I could hear a touch of his anxiety coming through.

"She loved us most of all, Afton." I scribbled hard, the lines dark and forceful. "Did you have fun with your friends today?"

He proceeded to rattle off a string of names of the kids he had played with and what they did, and when he talked himself out, I repeated my promise to be back in the morning and ended the call.

Any sense of calm I managed to find had fled and I stalked around, my agitation and restlessness increasing. Going back outside, I prowled about, looking for something else to channel my energy and emotion into. It was too dark to continue weeding, so I had to think of something else to do. I had an idea, and going back inside, I flipped on the switch that illuminated the front of the house. That, along with the streetlights, would give me adequate light to work with. Making a brief trip into the garage, I found a ladder and a crowbar, and dragging them out, I set to work.

I felt a shiver of satisfaction as I tore the first chunk of fake brick sheeting off the outside of the house. I threw myself into it, ripping off piece after piece. I reveled at the squeal of rusty nails being wrenched out, yanking hard on the flimsy batons underneath until a sizable area of original cladding was uncovered. As I worked frantically, random thoughts and impressions from the last few days rushed through my head, swamping every mental barrier I had erected.

_She was gone, REALLY gone−forever. Never to return. Never to call me, or nag at me, or to drop in on me ever again. Never to scold or yell at me, or to hug me and say "I forgive you."_

Screaming out my pain and rage, I stopped tearing away the sheeting abruptly, wielding the crowbar like a hammer instead, bashing and denting in a mad frenzy. I barely registered the sharp flakes of shattered material that peppered my skin or the dust that stung my eyes. I just lay about me in attempt to stop the agony I was feeling, to transfer it to something else, howling like a banshee.

Suddenly, I felt as if I were flying through the air, my grip on the crowbar loosening in my shock. The screeching sounds died in my throat. I was pulled against something firm but warm, and surrounded securely by strong arms.

"Hey now, Bella, it's okay," soothed a rich, deep voice. "You're hurting yourself."

Inhaling shakily, I took in the comforting scents of warm cotton, manly cologne, and crushed grass.

"You're safe with me," he crooned, cradling me gently as he started rocking to and fro. "Let it go; I've got you."

Scrunching my eyes closed, a flood of hot tears leaked out as I sobbed into his chest, releasing everything I'd fought so hard for too long to contain. I cried and cried, a sea of tears and regret flowing out into the night, leaving me an empty shell, purged clean at last.


	11. Irons in the Fire

**Many thanks to my beta team, StoryPainter and irelandk.**

**Big hugs and kisses to my pre-reader, Shazzio. Her invaluable input always makes this a much more enjoyable process. Thanks also to WellHungHubby for the stamp of male approval and insight into the beginning paragraphs of this chapter (What? He chose his own psuedonym *eyeroll*).**

**For my Aussie readers, Shazzio will verify that this chapter was written before the death of the inspirational Jim Stynes. For everyone else, the poem Bella reads was also used recently at the state funeral of a well known and loved Australian Rules Football player.**

**I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11-Irons in the Fire<strong>

_**Edward**_

She was sitting on my lap, squirming in the most distracting and enticing way as she moved to face me. Our eyes met, and I could see the naked want burning in her heated gaze. Her hand crept up to weave through my hair as she pushed her chest against mine, the heat radiating from her palm adding to the fire already flickering inside me. I groaned, a pained sound full of desire and entreaty. Answering my wordless plea, she pressed her lips to mine, her lips parting in invitation. As my tongue found hers, I groaned again, my hips bucking instinctively to grind against her.

I was overwhelmed with sensation. Her taste was intoxicating and consuming, and I kissed her deeply and fervidly in my search for more. Her subtle scent surrounded me, clouding all thought until all I wanted was to drown in her. One of her hands tugged on my hair as the other roamed over my back, the combined stimulation heightening the feeling of being surrounded by this beautiful woman. Moving my hands to her thighs, I helped her move until she was straddling me. Our bodies were now close enough that I could feel her heat, even through the denim of her jeans. I couldn't seem to control my automatic reaction, and she gasped when I bucked into her again, her head thrown back in pleasure. I kissed the alluringly soft skin along the column of her throat as I continued my rocking movements. I was rewarded with her throaty moans, and I increased the pressure against her apex. One of my hands cupped her buttock as she responded and moved against me, and I trailed the other up until I brushed the tight peak of her nipple.

We found our own rhythm, our desperate yet sensual sounds mingling as we kissed and grasped at each other in our frenzy. I could feel the tension gather and coil in my abdomen and lower, ready for rapturous release. I massaged her breast and rolled her nipple as I prolonged the pressure against her heated center, sucking at the tender spot just above her collarbone that always made her quiver. With a deep inhalation of breath she climaxed, a satisfying and glorious sight. Scrunching my eyes tightly shut as I thrust a final time, I let myself ride the wave with her. My own orgasmic noises were louder and more primitive-sounding.

I lay in sated bliss, listening to the pulse thunder in my ears as my racing heart tried to return to its normal pace. I stretched my cramped fingers, freeing them from the tightly bunched material clenched in my hands. Missing the sensation of the warm and willing feminine form I had just been embracing, my fingers crept about looking for her. They searched in vain.

"Bella?" I opened my eyes to see where she had gone. "Fuck!"

I was in my bed. Alone. I was also very sticky.

Another damned dream.

Swearing, I threw the rumpled covers aside, striped off my shorts and t-shirt and headed for the shower. As I stood under the warm spray, I mentally berated myself. This was the third morning in a row I had woken this way after dreaming of the intriguing and captivating Bella Swan. This kind of thing hadn't happened to me since I first reached puberty. At twenty-eight, I thought those days were long gone, laid to rest by…well, getting laid. Maybe that was the problem. This was the longest I had ever gone without regular sex. It wasn't like I was a man-whore or anything, but when I was in the mood, a lack of female company had never been a problem. After my last relationship died a natural death eight months ago, I just hadn't really missed it enough to get back in the saddle, so to speak. Or else, I just hadn't met the right person.

All that changed six mere mornings ago when the call out came over the police scanner we had at the office. Unless they were out for publicity or it was voting season, the police never gave us a heads up on potential newsworthy stories if they could avoid it. Having a scanner at the office meant we weren't reliant on the police for information and could be at a scene quickly. Compared to Chicago, it was a rare request to attend to a dead body found at home in Port Angeles. Although uncommon out here in the tranquil backwaters, sadly the odd murder or suicide did happen. Our readers were always eager for every detail, the more gruesome the better and the more papers we sold. As the closest thing PA had to a crime reporter, it was my job to report on what had occurred. That's how I found myself meeting Bella.

Of course, Felix hadn't been willing to give me an official statement when I first arrived at the scene, but assured me that if I hung around, he would talk to me after the medical examiner had done his thing. I had wandered into the park, and spying the lone figure sitting on a bench smoking, thought only of passing some time with someone caught in a similar delay.

Seeing a quaking Bella perched precariously on the seat had reminded me of the first job I had attended, a gory gangland drive-by shooting. Nothing prepared you for having to put aside your sense of shock at the dreadfulness you witnessed at certain scenes. It took time and some desensitization to put aside your rational and natural reaction to it to think and act in a functional way while you got the job done. Remembering that, I felt for her obvious distress and found myself wanting to ease her way through it. Her partner was an idiot, I had thought, abandoning this fragile young woman at a time when she could clearly use a sensitive mentor. Something about her brought out my caveman instincts, and I found myself wanting to protect and care for her.

Watching her anxiety and tension ease a little as I distracted her let me see a glimpse of what she would ordinarily be like. Her wan, heart-shaped face got a little color back as she relaxed, revealing her usual creamy complexion. Her lustrous brown hair was tied in a tight top-knot but wisps had escaped, waving around the nape of her neck and her face. It looked long, and I imagined it framing her pretty features in soft curls. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They were large, brown, and expressive. As I stared into them, I could see little flecks of color in the pupil; the bronze and gold inclusions giving them a rare depth and intensity.

Much to my surprise, I felt the first stirrings of attraction. The whole damsel in distress thing usually didn't do anything for me, and I wasn't yet sure what else there was about her that called to me on a deeper level. She had done nothing to call attention to herself or to invoke my interest, a complete novelty compared to my previous experiences. All I knew was that I wanted another opportunity to get to know her better, away from this horrible scene, to see if the spark I had felt could ignite to something more.

Any hope of that was obliterated when the jerk from the Sequim _Gazette_ took a photo as they were removing the body from the house. Assuming it was me, Bella had gone ballistic and attacked. She was unexpectedly strong for such a petite woman, her fury making her cheeks glow and her eyes bright with passion. Some hulking policeman tried to drag her away but she scorched him too before collapsing like a deflated balloon. The protective urge surged in me again, and I itched to pick her up and console her, cursing myself for not even trying. Her cousin had come to whisk her away, but I had found myself thinking about her in the days after. Although my rational brain knew it was futile, my more emotional hidden side couldn't seem to let her go just yet. It didn't help any that as I drafted the newspaper article and started talking to people about Renee Dwyer, I also learned a little more about her daughter. I couldn't seem to get away from her.

When we bumped into each other at the basketball court on Sunday, it seemed like karma. I was initially certain that she was going to cuss me out. Instead, she had apologized and when our fingers touched as she handed back our ball, I felt a current of electricity creating a weird connection between us. The spark of attraction flamed into life, and I took a minute to appreciate how she looked in her Sunday best. She wasn't just pretty, she was breath-taking. As we got to talking about her family, I realized her beauty was in more than her looks. She was kind and caring, and when as she related happier memories, I could see her usual confidence and spirit shining through the shroud of grief she currently carried about herself.

I was a total goner.

I couldn't get her out of my head, every waking thought consumed by her and then every nighttime one too, hence the wet dreams. Glimpses of swinging and shining chestnut hair, thoughts of soft curves, and the memory of her unique scent would ambush me at random moments, distracting and disarming me. I cursed the fucked-up timing more than once. Bella had lost her mother in tragic circumstances and was clearly struggling to accept it. Trying to pursue a woman in the depths of mourning wasn't just poorly timed, it was wrong on so many levels. I debated with myself about biding my time and waiting for a better opportunity, but that just made me feel like a sleazy asshole. No, perfect woman or not, I would have to put all budding warm and fuzzy thoughts aside, and just be the nice but reserved outsider she probably saw me as.

Resigned to my fate, I thought that was the end of things until I got a message from Jennifer saying Bella wanted to see me. Using her obvious nervousness as a handy excuse to take our conversation somewhere more conducive to proper social interaction, I drove her to a nearby favorite haunt of mine. The girl clearly needed to chill a little. After reducing her anxiety once again, this time with food and a beer, she spilled out her story and asked for my help. I was skeptical to start with but listened to her as she reasoned her way through her explanations. She was both logical and shrewd, her keen and observant mind an additional draw. I had my own take on some of the things she revealed after the footwork I had done for my article but kept them to myself. I knew I would need to think carefully about whether it was worth embroiling myself in what could be a wild goose chase. I couldn't afford to let my growing fascination with her cloud my judgment. Whatever Bella believed, it was still more probable that her mother had indeed committed suicide, regardless of how unacceptable and unlikely her loved ones had found it.

It was also clear to me that what she seemed to need most was someone to really listen to her concerns and to be there just for her. She was fortunate to have such a close and supportive family, but from the little things she had been saying, she had been having trouble opening up to them fully. Now that Bella seemed so set on her personal crusade, she would need someone in her corner, an ally against the negativity and obstacles she would encounter. The caveman side of me said this could only be a good thing for me. If I agreed to her request, it meant I would be seeing more of her, as we would have to work together closely on certain aspects of the investigation. It would provide the perfect chance for her to get to know me better, to see me as something more than the guy with a handy job and a camera. I'd be able to get to know her better, too. I might even be able to work out what it was about her that intrigued me so much.

Thinking more about talking with her that night, I realized something else important. Bella was no damsel in distress. She was a woman of action, willing to put aside considerations of potential difficulties and smears on her own character in her drive to put things right. That spoke of a hidden core of strength and integrity. She was far more resilient than she appeared, and in the end, I might well end up playing the side-kick to her avenging hero. That proved quite the mental visual, and featured in more than a few of my dreams.

Stepping out of the shower, I dried myself and shaved. Returning to my room, I dressed in a light green shirt and coordinating tie, wanting to blend in with other mourners. It wasn't unheard of for reporters to attend the funeral of public figures, and I rationalized my intention to attend as carrying out further research. After all, I needed to get a firm handle on all the players so I could make an informed decision about getting involved in Bella's crusade. I knew there would be plenty of attendees. From the interviews I had done, I knew Renee had been well-liked, and considered a respected and talented teacher. The bigger the crowd, the easier it would be for me to blend in. I wanted a chance to observe everyone close to Renee, and this would probably be the one and only time they would all be together in the same place.

I pulled into St Francis de Sale's parking lot about twenty minutes before the service was due to start. The lot was almost full already. Brightly dressed mourners mingled in the paved forecourt, a small group gathered at the foot of the stairs. As I passed, I could see Phil Dwyer in the center of the cluster, flanked by his parents and brother. I noted with surprise that the Dwyers were all dressed in black. Although the _Peninsula Examiner_ had come out before the funeral details were confirmed, the particulars had all been listed in the online version's obituary section. They must have dressed that way deliberately, but why?

Wanting to get a seat somewhere with a good view of the front pew, I skirted the huddle of people and headed inside. There was a line of mourners waiting in front of a small table in the foyer. Scanning the huge noticeboard next to it, I could see the brightly hued slips of paper people had written their tributes on, a nice touch I hadn't seen at this kind of thing before. Having not known Renee personally, I decided it wouldn't be appropriate for me to contribute, but I did sign the condolences book.

The inside of the church was large, and I managed to find a spot in a bank of seats that faced perpendicular to the raised area on which the alter stood, giving me a great view of the front seats. I wanted to be able to watch Phil's reactions throughout the proceedings. The coffin was already on the dais, surrounded by an array of wreaths and tall vases of elaborate floral arrangements. The most ostentatious was a heart-shaped wreath of pink and purple anemones, hyacinths, and a single petal type of rose. A purple ribbon crossed the heart diagonally, proclaiming "adored wife." I made a mental note to look up the meaning of those particular flowers and to check exactly who had ordered them.

With its plain wood, stylized painted design and matching spray of deep pink roses on top, the coffin looked simple and elegant, in direct contrast to the riot of showy and pretentious flowers draped around it. A brass stand stood to the left, on which leaned a huge framed portrait of Renee. As I studied it, I could see Bella had the same heart-shaped face as her mother and had inherited her lips, a defined and rosy cupid's bow. Renee had been an attractive woman, and had looked younger than her forty-three years.

Leaving my coat on my spot to mark it as claimed, I slipped back outside and found a place where I could observe Phil and his family unobtrusively. I people-watched as I waited for the Cullens to arrive, nodding in greeting to those that I knew and the people I had recently interviewed about Renee. There was Mr. Greene, the college principal, and a few teachers. Amanda Reed, one of Renee's colleagues, seemed to be the closest thing Renee had to a girlfriend. When I had interviewed her, she commented that Renee had been distracted and emotional lately, the only person who didn't go on about how cheery Renee always was. She was also the only person that didn't seem to have any sympathy for Phil, and some of the things she said hinted that Renee might have confided a few things to her. In light of Bella's concerns, I would need to speak to Ms. Reed in more depth.

Everyone else seemed to see Phil as a model citizen. The women as a whole seemed jealous that he was such an attentive husband and devoted family man. The envies of the men centered on his successful and apparently lucrative business, his flashy car, and that he was athletic-looking and still had his own hair. Not one person had anything bad to say about him, which in itself was a little odd. Even the rival realtors in the area praised him, relating how he had done much to raise the profile of local businesses through his involvement with Clallam County Business Advisory Group.

I put some time in researching since Bella asked me to help look into her mother's death. Bella told me that her mother had neither known nor cared about Phil's past. The brief education and professional history listed on the realtor's association website had checked out so far. I made an appointment to travel to Kingsgate to chat with his old boss. He had worked there three years; his other jobs all lasting only about twelve months. I also asked Jasper to check into what he had done before college. He was a late starter, and there was a gaping hole in his background before the age of twenty-five.

Jasper was my go-to man whenever I needed a cyber-chase, and had extensive and stealthy ninja-like skills negotiating the mysteries of secure systems and databases. We met when he was doing a double degree in digital media communication and graphic design, an official and handy cover for his private hacking enterprises. Jasper explained he was fueled by curiosity and had no interest in sabotaging the systems he infiltrated, thriving on the challenge. He justified his inquisitiveness saying that he was merely the product of his upbringing as the only son of two journalists. He had five sisters, none of whom had shown any interest in joining the family business. While Jasper's work overseeing the computerized system that logged, laid out and published the paper and online versions of the _Examiner_ took up a lot of his day, his small crew of dedicated and industrious IT staff afforded him enough free time to indulge in his little sideline.

I watched while Phil shook hands with people, his face a somber mask of sorrow as people offered their condolences. During the brief periods between greeting the various parties, his mask would drop and his face would become more animated. He even smiled a few times as he exchanged whispered words with his father or brother. Twice, I saw him wipe away tears, once when a man in a satin-trimmed muumuu came out of the church for a few words. Judging from the symbols that decorated his dress, I surmised that the man must be the Father Banner Bella had been referring to. The second time was when a stylishly dressed couple approached, both embracing Phil with familiarity. I recognized them from the realty webpage. It was Alec Harrow, Phil's business partner, and his wife, Jane. I had seen her in the flesh once before, a memory that had grown in significance.

When Jasper had first offered me a job as a photo-journalist, I had taken two weeks' vacation from my Chicago job to come visit and check things out. I had wanted to get a feel for the area, to watch how things at the paper ran and how my potential future colleagues worked together. I had also made arrangements online to inspect some apartments. I was going to view two in the same building, one furnished and one bare. Arriving about ten minutes before our scheduled meeting time, I saw an eye-catching blond woman leaving the apartment, patting down her hair. I saw the flash of diamonds and a wedding ring as her other hand smoothed her skirt down. I knocked on the open door, startling the agent who was redoing his tie. He had broken the awkward silence by pasting on a huge smile and introducing himself, making no reference to what I had seen. Needless to say, I did not rent the furnished apartment, images of what might have occurred recently on the furniture all too fresh.

Now, seeing the three of them together, I recognized Jane as the woman I had seen that day leaving the apartment Phil had shown me. I had just assumed she was Phil's wife, but quickly realized my error the day of Renee's death. Alec kept one arm firmly glued to the slim waist of his wife as the trio exchanged hushed words. There was no way to tell from their current interaction if Jane and Phil still had something active on the side, and I added this onto the growing list of things to explore further.

Phil certainly hadn't seemed to remember our previous business dealings on Saturday when I had called on him at his parents' house for an interview. That day, he sat on the couch between his stern father and pinch-faced mother as he related how Renee's worsening mental state lead to the deterioration of their marriage. He had insinuated that she was fast becoming an alcoholic, and that it was starting to interfere with her judgment and parenting. When I asked what measures he had taken to ensure that the boys would not come to danger in her care, I saw his father nudge him with his foot as Phil hastily back-peddled, saying that Renee had always been a good mother. Phil seemed slightly more guarded after that, and after a few more words, his father interrupted and tried to wind up our interview. James Dwyer stated firmly that although the Dwyer family was clearly distressed at his daughter-in-law's sudden passing, it had not been entirely unexpected in view of the decline of her mental state.

I had to give the Dwyers one thing: while they might lack outward signs of empathy for Renee or any sense of responsibility, they were staunchly united in looking out for Phil's best interests. As James escorted me to my car, he reminded me of keeping the promise I made when they agreed to the interview. I was to send a copy of the article to them that night for their approval before it was submitted for publication, and any further requests for information were to go through him.

The arrival of the Cullens drew my attention from my observation of the Dwyers. My eyes focused on Bella, my heart clenching as I took in how pale she looked, and how bleak and flat her eyes were. She wore a beautiful print dress that made her legs seem to go on forever, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the look of misery marring her pretty features. She seemed oblivious to the goings on around her, so wrapped up in her own sense of desolation that she was almost like a sleepwalker. The small boy holding her hand let go and he raced toward Phil, throwing himself at his legs. Phil patted him on the head absently, exchanging polite words with a handsome couple I assumed were Bella's aunt and uncle. The woman had hair the same shade of honeyed brown as Renee's, and she held the hand of a younger boy. For some reason, a large fluffy yellow dog was with them as well. Ignoring Bella and her cousin altogether, Phil gestured toward the church, and they all made their way up the stairs to gather in the foyer. I slipped unobtrusively around them and made my way back to my seat.

Everyone stood as the small procession of family members walked into the church. Phil led, his head bowed and face sad. Next came Bella and Esme with the little boys and the dog padding behind, a sight I still couldn't get used to in a church. Bella's uncle and cousin came next, and the Dwyers last. The service ran as those kinds of things do. The most interesting parts were the eulogy and watching Bella. She nuzzled the boy on her lap frequently, which seemed to calm and ground him, her arms surrounding the child's as she held onto him like a life preserver. The eulogy was delivered in parts, with Phil, Mr. Greene, Esme, and a former student of Renee's all taking a turn. Esme's and the students were done by video, as the girl was now studying English Literature at Oxford University in the UK. All spoke of Renee with fondness, recalling favored memories and recounting her admirable attributes.

Except Phil.

He spoke last, positioning himself carefully, his black suit a somber counterpoint to the riot of color behind him. The suit provided the perfect foil against the bright floral backdrop, making him stand out and underlying his solemnity. He was quite the showman with his pitiful speech, and the sobs and sniffs all around became more audible as he spoke of his heartbreak at his wife's decline. It was amazing to watch how he worked the crowd, and for a minute, I wondered if my cynicism was misplaced. Maybe he really was a man bereft.

I listened some more and realized he never once spoke of anything positive about his wife. He didn't refer to how his children or Bella were feeling. It was all about _his_ loss and how it would affect _him. _It seemed I wasn't the only one to notice the focus of his carefully rehearsed speech. My attention was again drawn to Bella, and I saw her eyes were no longer desolate but blazing fiercely with anger. She seemed to struggle with herself the whole time he spoke, and I found myself wishing I was sitting next to her so I could hold her hand and stroke her fingers; anything to convey some sense of consolation. The urge to move to do so was so tempting that I found myself moving restlessly in my seat. After a while, Bella slipped back into her apathetic state.

Toward the end of the service, a slide show photographic tribute to Renee's life illuminated an overhead screen. Overexposed color pictures of her parents holding her as a newborn were followed by carefully posed school portraits and casual holiday snaps of her with her sister. Her graduation photo was replaced by a picture of her holding a baby with dark wispy hair. There was one of her and Bella on Bella's first day of school, her hair up in crooked pigtails. Another one showed Renee and Bella in matching Halloween costumes. Then came a shot from Phil and Renee's wedding, Bella standing next to her mother in an elegant dark red bridesmaid dress. At Bella's graduation Renee looked hugely pregnant, and the remaining shots were almost entirely of the Dwyers together. It was a somewhat surreal experience watching first her mother and then Bella grow to womanhood right before our eyes. In elegant script, the words "Renee's legacy" flowed across the screen, along with estimations of the number of students she had taught, how many graduated high school and then college. Someone had worked out how many hours she contributed to local fundraising and community ventures, and pictures of her at such activities were also featured. Lastly, there was a short video of Bella with her arms around her brothers, sitting in a garden, the three of them seemingly unaware of the camera as the boys gestured to a statue of an angel. As the images of the siblings' peaceful moment together played out, a pure and lilting voice recited a poignant verse as a background.

_In those quiet moments in the still of the night  
>Remember to rejoice and celebrate life<br>Do not think of me gone and weep  
>I am not there, I do not sleep<br>I am a thousand winds that blow  
>I am the diamond glints on snow<br>I am the sunlight on the grain  
>I am the gentle autumn's rain<br>When you awaken in the morning hush  
>I am the swift uplifting rush<br>of quiet birds in flight  
>I am the soft stars that shine<br>You will hear my gentle voice  
>and remember to rejoice<br>Never give up your fight  
>and remember always<br>to celebrate life..._

~oOo~

After the service, I followed the crowd into the church hall for the gathering after. The notice board covered with bright Post-Its and photos had been wheeled in from the foyer and was joined by another of the same size. It was covered by handmade cards, crayon drawings, and craft projects. So many Christmas and Mother's Day cards, valentines, and Thanksgiving pictures were pinned on it that they covered the cork and dangled off its wooden borders. Some are addressed "To Mommy," and had been signed first in wobbly writing, then clearer lettering by Bella and Afton. Corin's were all shaky, but he was only three. Then there were those done by former students. Those proclaimed "best teacher" and "my friend." Renee had saved them all, years and years worth of memories so obviously treasured. It was yet another illustration of the loss not just to her family, but to her wider community.

The divide between the Cullens and the Dwyers was subtle, but definitely there, both taking positions at opposite ends of the room. I chatted politely with a few people, but mostly skirted the mourners and discreetly eavesdropped on conversations while trying to keep an eye on Phil. As before the service, there was an almost constant procession of people shaking his hand and patting his shoulder or arm. His parents remained glued to his side, his father intervening if it seemed someone was taking up more time or if the conversation went too close to personal matters, like the state of their marriage or questions of exactly how Renee had committed suicide. It never failed to surprise me how little tact or sensitivity some people had, asking such things on the day of her funeral.

I was beginning to think nothing interesting would happen, so I slipped into the kitchen to get a drink. The church auxiliary ladies had apparently commandeered the catering, and I was quickly given a cup of coffee and a small plate of finger food before being propelled out another door. I wandered the corridor, looking for a place to sit in peace for a few minutes and, finding an open door, found myself in what looked to be a small study room. Several student-size tables were arranged into an odd square, an old bookshelf against the wall crammed with bibles, hymnals, and other religious books. I chose a seat in the corner so I couldn't be seen from the door if anyone did happen along here. The door itself had a window which reflected a fuzzy view of the brightly lit hallway, so I would see and hear anyone else coming. I had just finished eating when I heard the creak of a door and footsteps. I briefly debated excusing myself and returning to the hall when the sounds of the hushed conversation reached me, echoing softly up the corridor.

"I've missed you so _much_, baby!" a high-pitched, youthful voice simpered.

"Shh, keep it down! If anyone catches us we're in deep shit," a male voice hissed.

Looking toward the door, I could barely make out the reflected forms of a man and a woman. The man's clothing was dark, and so it could only be Phil. I couldn't make out much of the woman, other than she had long dark hair. She seemed to be trying to embrace him, and he was trying to push her away.

"Not here!" he hissed again. "I've missed our time together too, but this is her funeral for God's sake. We have to wait a decent amount of time before coming out, so it doesn't look so bad."

"But sweetie, I don't know if I can wait too much longer," the woman whined.

"We can still keep seeing each other," he murmured reassuringly. "We just have to keep being careful. My dad is all up in my business at the moment and never leaves me alone. He keeps reminding me that I have an image to maintain and there are eyes watching. You'll just have to be patient, sugar."

"You promised me, Phil! You can't just string me along forever. I do have some pride you know!"

The woman stalked off, her high heels clicking furiously. I heard Phil sigh loudly, and after a few minutes, he slipped away too.

So it seemed Phil had more than one secret. I wondered if his father knew or just suspected, or was merely mindful of public opinion. Picking up my dishes, I returned them to the kitchen and entered the hall the way I came.

Things were starting to wind down, and I noted the hall was beginning to empty. Spying Amanda Reed preparing to leave, I approached her and asked if she would be willing to talk to me a little more sometime over the next week. She agreed readily, and after we set a day and time, we walked out to the forecourt again before saying goodbye. The Dwyers were nowhere to be seen, and the Cullens were thanking mourners as they got ready to leave. Bella was also missing. As I approached, Bella's cousin's face lit with recognition.

"Oh, hey! I know your name now. You're Edward." She reached out and we shook hands. "I'm Alice by the way." She tugged my hand, bringing me closer to introduce me to her parents, Esme and Carlisle.

"It was a beautiful service, a real credit to you all," I offered sincerely. "I felt like I got to know Mrs. Dwyer in a much more personal way."

"Oh, thank you, Edward," Esme exclaimed, reaching out to touch my arm lightly. "The story you wrote about Renee was lovely, and the boys were thrilled to bits to see her picture in the paper. It's pinned on the wall in their room." Her small smile was tinged with sadness. "We also heard we have you to thank for making Bella let us know she was okay the other night. We've been so worried about her, so we were so grateful to hear she had someone she felt she could talk to."

Carlisle cast a critical eye over me, and apparently deciding that I measured up to whatever internal scan he was running, clapped me on the shoulder.

"You should come over for dinner soon so we can talk more somewhere a little more normal," Carlisle suggested. "Bella doesn't take so quickly to many people, so anyone she counts as a friend is worth getting to know."

I almost blushed at their praise, sensing their genuine generosity and care for Bella.

"Sure. That would be great. I don't want to make Bella uncomfortable though." I didn't know how she would feel about me being invited over. She might prefer to keep those parts of her life separate.

We were interrupted by a couple wanting to talk to Esme and Carlisle before leaving. As they politely turned their attention to the guests, Alice spoke again.

"Dad's right, you know. Bella rarely confides in anyone. I think she really needs it at the moment, so please don't screw it up." She gave me a fierce look, and despite her small stature, I got the distinct feeling that Alice Cullen was not someone to be fucked with. "I promise I will maim you permanently if you do anything to hurt her." I was beginning to feel slightly alarmed when she beamed at me. "I get the feeling that meeting you could be the one good thing that comes out of this whole terrible situation. Call her soon, Edward. Gotta go." With that, she flitted off, chasing after one of the boys as he ran down the stairs.

As I drove home later, I went over everything I had seen and heard over the last few days as I considered what answer I would give Bella. My deliberations were constantly interrupted by thoughts of what she was doing and how she was feeling after the emotional stress of the day. Where was she now? Was she alone, or was she being tended to and comforted by her family? Had she actually talked to them, or had she continued to bury all her concerns and hide her fears from them? Would she need some distraction perhaps?

Shaking my head at myself, I realized the decision had been made as soon as I helped her into my Volvo. All day, I had effectively been on the case, looking at Phil with a critical eye. Once I had seen for myself the first chink in his pretense of respectability, he became a solid suspect, and the appeal of the chase took hold. When I got home, I changed and sat down to write notes, carefully documenting and cataloguing everything I had seen and heard since I first became involved in the case. It was almost dark when I finished, and I ate a hasty meal before trying Bella's number.

There was no answer, so I left a voice mail and sent a text for good measure. After an hour, I began to get concerned. I knew she was waiting to hear from me and was anxious to get started. I tried again, leaving another message. I debated whether it would make me look even more like a stalker, after the unsolicited letter I had already sent to her, but in the end, my sense of unease won out. Scrolling through the recently dialed numbers, I found the one Bella had phoned three nights ago when I had urged her to call home. I dialed it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Esme? This is Edward Masen. Sorry to call, but I'm worried about Bella. I tried calling earlier but got no reply."

"She went back to her house by herself. She refused to let any of us go check on her, and we're a little worried about her too. Um…maybe…" Her voice was hesitant, and there was something else. A hint of suggestion.

"Maybe I could go check on her. I need to talk to her about something anyway, but if she's not in the mood, at least we'll all know she's okay."

"Would you, Edward?" Her relief was palpable. "I'd be grateful if you could. Please don't tell her I put you up to it though."

I smiled, even though I knew she couldn't see me. Reassuring her that her secret was safe with me, I didn't think it was necessary to tell her that was what I wanted to do in the first place. I made me goodbyes and got ready to go.

I was going to pay a visit to Bella.

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><p><strong>I'm going to post the next chapter in two weeks, instead of my usual weekly schedule. Don't panic! I'm not abandoning this story. I wouldn't have started posting it at all if I had no committment to following it through.<strong> **Just look at my previous story and posting regularity if you need further assurance.**

**In the meantime, you could always review...**


	12. Life Goes On

**Thanks to my beta's, StoryPainter and irelandk. StoryPainter was particularly helpful clarifying issues of legal versus official next of kin arrangements in the US.**

**Thank you also to Shazzio. She doesn't just pre-read, she makes sure I keep things real.**

**Don't forget to check out the thread on Twilighted, or else poor AlexaC will have no one to talk to, since for some reason, I still can't log on.**

**This and my other multi-chapter work, "Through a Glass, Darkly," are now also both on Twilighted.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12-Life Goes On<strong>

I felt empty in every sense of the word. I had no thoughts or feelings left, nothing to give or share, almost as if my body and mind were completely uninhabited. It was very peaceful, and I allowed myself to drift and take pleasure in the sensation. I then realized that I was actually feeling something, if I could revel in the release and enjoyment I was experiencing at that moment. I send tentative feelers out to see what was happening around me and whether it was safe to return to myself.

My body was somewhat compressed, tightly surrounded by a warmth of the most comforting kind. There was gentle, rhythmical rocking movement that also soothed. Best of all, there was sound: lulling and restful nonsense words and noises meant only to convey reassurance and solace. I sighed in appreciation, snuggling closer to the source of such bliss. A low rumble of a barely suppressed laugh vibrated beneath my ear, and I felt myself hoisted upright as we moved somewhere. I didn't bother opening my eyes. They felt puffy and hot, and it was restful staying in my little cocoon of contented oblivion.

I was carried and placed down somewhere soft and comfortable. It was the sofa, from what I could feel. I immediately missed the warm body that had held me, only slightly placated when I was swaddled by the scratchy but warm throw blanket that usually hid the marks on our worn settee. I was alone for a long minute, my ears straining for sounds as my comforter moved around the house, then disappeared briefly upstairs. I felt a small swell of relief when he returned, his voice softly informing me that he was going to touch me. A warm, wet washcloth tenderly wiped my face free of the salty residue of my tears as gentle hands stroked my tangled hair back off my face. He then meticulously washed my hands. They stung where I had sustained fine grazes and nicks from the weeding and impromptu renovating. Lastly, he attended to my feet, rinsing the cloth a few times to remove the grime. It felt nice, and I wanted to thank him. I opened my eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the light.

Edward was kneeling on the floor next to the sofa and he was looking at me with such concern that my breath caught. I suddenly became conscious of how I must look, all rumpled, dusty, tear-stained and blotchy. My heart rate picked up as I began to wonder what he must think of me, having found me bare foot and overwrought, trying to smash a hole in the side of our house. My eyes skittered away from his and I fixed them on a bland print which hung on the wall. I had obviously recovered enough of my usual sensibilities to feel mortified at how pathetic I must seem.

Edward's fingers were gentle as they touched my jaw, tilting my face so I had to look at him again.

"Don't hide," he pleaded. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

All my mental barriers were down, and I had no hope of disguising my expression, body language or feelings. He had obviously been able to read me far too easily.

"Have you eaten at all today?" he asked, thankfully changing the subject.

I thought for a minute, trying to remember if I had any breakfast. I had been too wound up after the funeral to try anything at the wake. I shook my head, my stomach clenching painfully in anticipation at the thought of food. Edward patted my leg and got up. I watched as he moved around the kitchen, checking through the cupboards and fridge to see what he had to work with. His ease and familiarity spoke of someone used to cooking, and he even cleaned up after himself as he prepared something for me. In no time at all, I had a plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and grilled tomatoes placed in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. Edward sat next to me as I ate, sipping on a cup of coffee. Although neither of us spoke, the silence wasn't awkward, both of us seemingly content just to sit companionably side by side.

When I finished, I lay back and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders again.

"Thank you, Edward," I offered, "for all this. Everything," I stressed, so he would know I didn't just mean supper and the blanket.

He waved me off with a small smile before his expression became serious again. "I get the impression that those tears were a long time coming. I'm not going to ask if you're okay, because I know it'll probably be a while before you feel that way again." He moved a fraction closer, his expression open and sincere. "Did it help, letting a bit of it out?"

I nodded, calmed by his easy acceptance. Unlike many men, it seemed senseless blubbering women did not scare him off. "It has, a little," I replied, my voice still slightly thick from my crying jag. "I feel lighter. I've been hanging on to so much since I found my mom that day. I think I was still in denial about some things. After today, I was forced to accept she's never coming back." Tears clouded my vision again and I let them trickle down my cheeks unchecked. "I miss her so much, it's like I've lost a part of me."

"She's been a big part of your life, Bella," Edward murmured. "It's going to take time to adjust. You just have to remember that you have a lot of people around you who care about you, who worry about you. We're all here to help you through this as best we can."

"I know, and I _am_ grateful. I just know that everyone in my family is dealing with their own grief. They don't need my misery on top of everything else they're trying to cope with," I explained.

"You'll just have to talk to me then," he reasoned. "I'm tough. I can handle anything you need to unload."

"Okay." For some reason, I trusted him and knew his offer was no empty platitude. Every time we had been together, he had brought me some measure of calm. "You've already helped me more than you know. So, did you happen to be driving by my place, only to be astounded by my awesome handyman skills, or did you want to talk to me?"

He laughed. "Well, you do have a novel technique, but there are more efficient ways to remove that kind of sheeting. I actually came to tell you that I'll take the job. Looking into your mom's passing, I mean. Of course, if you need help with the other, I can do that too."

I felt an involuntary smile curl my lips. "A man of many talents, Mr. Masen? Sounds promising." It felt nice to indulge in some light-hearted banter, even if only for a minute. "I was sure you'd think I was crazy, thinking the things I've been thinking, but I needed to do something."

"I don't think you're crazy," he said, and as I searched his face, I could see he meant it. "I'll admit that we've got our work cut out for us, but I'm willing to try if you are."

I stared at him, trying to work him out. "Why are you doing all of this, Edward? I know I asked for your help, and I do appreciate it, but what made you agree?"

He looked startled at my question and got to his feet hastily, gathering our dishes together before disappearing into the kitchen.

"I…ah…couldn't stop thinking about…all the things you said. The more I thought about it, the more questions I had. I realized I wanted to know the answers." His voice carried easily from the kitchen. "I've always loved a good mystery, and this one will certainly be a challenge."

I could hear water running and dishes clattering together. He reappeared, holding a notebook in his hand. He perched on the other end of the couch but this time left some distance between us.

"From what you said, it seems you're all alone in thinking there might be more to how your mom died. In good conscience, I couldn't leave things like that." Deftly steering the conversation away from talk of his motivation, he opened his notebook and flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted. "I've been doing some background work and have made some notes about what needs to be done now. Are you up to talking about it, or would you rather wait for another time?"

Assuring him that I was okay with him continuing, I listened intently as he described the gap in Phil's history, and his arrangements to speak to the Realtor in Kingsgate, and his impression of Amanda Reed. He outlined his intention to check into the background of Phil's parents and brother, as well as run a full financial assessment on all of them. With a brief apologetic glance at me, he also explained that he would be looking into any possible extramarital affairs Phil may have had as well.

"What? What's with the look?" I demanded. "Have you already found something?" I was curious, but also hesitant. "It wouldn't surprise me to be honest, but I hate the thought of how my mom would have felt about it. Even though she wanted a divorce, it would have hurt her."

Edward flipped nervously through a few pages of his notebook, seeming to weigh things before he spoke again. "There are a few things that suggest he may have had someone on the side. It would go a long way to providing a motive. He might have been trying to dodge a drawn out and costly custody and financial settlement. Nicer for a new girlfriend, too, with no annoying ex to deal with."

"Yeah, I'm sure there would be plenty of women out there ready to volunteer. He's still young, and I suppose some people think he's good looking." I shuddered, the thought distasteful. "He can be very charming and is well liked. I've just known him longer. I've seen him without his public face on too often to be tricked by it."

"Okay, so you see why we have to check it out. I also need to do the same for your mom, just in case."

Thoughts of Jacob Black and our strange conversation came drifting back and I recounted what I could remember. "I'll call him and see what he has to say," I added, my voice wavering slightly with my unease. I was worried about what Jake might reveal, and whether I'd be able to deal with it. The more I thought about it, the more my suspicions grew that he might have something to do with the disciplinary issue Mom had been facing at work.

Aware of my sudden tension, Edward listed other things I needed to do. He urged me to apply for a copy of the death certificate so I would have some legal basis or proof when we made certain enquiries. Although Mom was married, and therefore Phil was her official next of kin, being her daughter might be enough to satisfy privacy requirements when attempting to gain information. Edward also instructed me to request a copy of the police and coroner's reports.

"You don't have to look at them yourself, but we need to submit the reports, photographs, and toxicology results to an independent forensic specialist. One of my Chicago contacts is going to email me a recommendation of someone. We also need details of Phil's possible alibi, and the police statements will cover that." Edward was going to check into Phil's whereabouts to find any possible subterfuge. "Any items the police removed from the house will be offered to Phil, but if he doesn't want them, they might hand them over to you. We need that stuff, if you can get it. The forensic specialist will want to examine them too."

I thought of the wine bottle I had taken from Mom's house. Even then, something about seeing it left where the boys could so easily get to it had triggered some unacknowledged suspicion in me. I told Edward what I had done, and the look he gave me carried a hint of approval. He made some off-handed comment about me being a natural at this.

We talked a little about the note Mom had left for me and what she might have meant. Mom had written something about feeling that someone was trying to "get rid of her." It was hard to determine from her vague insinuation exactly what she meant. She could have been referring to any number of things. Maybe, she felt under pressure to leave her job, especially in light of whatever situation had led to the threat of formal disciplinary action. There might have been some pressure or covert threat made to force her to leave the house or finalize the divorce. That could be more of a concrete possibility if Phil did indeed have a secret lover somewhere. Mom had remained living in the house with Phil, although they _had_ been in separate bedrooms, so it seemed unlikely that she feared any further acts of violence from him. The tone of the note was just so ambiguous. While I was imagining death threats and conspiracy theories, she could just as easily have been implying that Phil was merely being a prick and trying to manipulate her.

Edward was fixated by the suggestion of there being more than one source of whatever menace my mom felt she was being subject to. He jotted some more in his book and asked for a copy of the letter. I hadn't seen it since the day Chief Cudmore came, so I promised to get it back and pass it on. Scribbling a list, Edward wrote down everything he wanted me to follow up on, and we made arrangements to catch up in a few days to share our progress. Although I wasn't looking forward to any of these tasks, I could see how necessary they would be toward building our case.

Edward stood and said something about calling it a night. Draping the blanket around my shoulders like a cape, I followed him to the front door.

"Well, I'll see you in a couple of days. I promise I'll call if I find out anything you need to know straight away, okay?" Edward lingered on the doorsill, as if he was reluctant to leave.

I fidgeted with the frayed corner of the blanket, feeling the need to offer some gesture to express how grateful I was after all he had done to help me but uncertain about what to do. Shaking hands seemed too formal and impersonal under the circumstances. After all, a couple of hours ago, he had cradled me on his lap as I sobbed into his shirt. I wanted to kiss his cheek, to show how much his company and comfort had meant, but that seemed a little too familiar and intimate. Instead, I settled on an awkward one-armed hug.

_Hugging was okay, wasn't it? Lots of people hugged others they knew casually._ _Isn't that what we are, casual acquaintances? No…surely, after everything, I can call him a friend…_

My arm was somewhat stiff as I stood on tip-toes and tentatively curled it around his shoulder, attempting to leave some space between our bodies. Edward was initially rendered immobile with astonishment, but suddenly came to life, his arms circling around me and crushing our bodies together.

I squeaked with surprise before recovering. "Thank you again, Edward. I really needed…I mean, you were…just, thank you." I patted his back and inhaled his scent, wanting to capture and keep some of his comforting essence.

I could feel his hot breath tickling through the hair over my ear as he briefly rested his cheek against me. "Believe me, the pleasure was all mine." With that, he was gone. I locked the door behind him, turned out the lights and floated up to bed.

The next morning, I was awake early, even though I hadn't bothered to set my alarm. Looking over at the battered clock-radio with its luminous green digital numbers, I wondered idly what kind of song might have woken me this morning. The break in my usual routine made me feel out of sync, almost as if I were a stranger in my own home. Despite the late night and stress of the previous day, I felt better without thoughts of the funeral looming over me. Trying to focus on achieving something constructive for the day, I mentally ran over the tasks Edward had set for me. I sent Alice a text, hoping she was awake and could come and pick me up. I showered and dressed while I was waiting for her reply. I was sitting on my bed, pulling on some socks, when I heard the thundering of small feet racing up the stairs. The door was pushed open farther, and two small bodies and one furry one launched themselves onto my bed.

"Bell Bell! We missed you," Corin declared, a hint of rebuke in his voice.

"Yeah, so we came to get you," added Afton.

"You missed me, huh?" I said with a smile, turning to tickle them both. The bed creaked with the movement of the two squirming, shrieking boys, Edna bouncing around us trying to get a lick in here and there where she could. I laughed too, happy to enjoy a light hearted moment with my brothers. When Afton shrieked "uncle" for the millionth time, I stopped my assault, and we lay together on the bed trying to catch our breath again.

"Okay, you monsters!" Alice was standing by my bed with her arms crossed. Her scolding expression was quickly ruined by the smile that fought free. "Let's help Bella get what she needs and go back to Auntie Essie's. Remember, you promised her you were going to help cook lunch today."

Whooping, the boys pulled on my hands until I got off the bed.

"You two cooking? Is Auntie Essie mad?" I joked. "Her kitchen will never survive it!"

"We're making basghetti and chocolate cake!" said Corin, bouncing up and down on my poor abused mattress.

"Auntie Essie is spoiling you, making your favorites." I looked at Alice in askance.

"The boys are going home with their dad this afternoon, so Mom thought we'd all have a special lunch together before they leave." She gave me a heavy look full of concern.

I sighed loudly in response, not wanting to alert the boys to how distressed the thought made me.

Logically, I knew it was bound to happen at some stage. Phil was their father, and usually, I'd be all for a family sticking together to recover from such a loss. Emotionally, although I didn't know if I was ready for the full-time responsibility of caring for them myself, I wanted to keep them safe forever. Protecting them from pain and uncertainty equaled separating them from Phil permanently in my mind. To the best of my knowledge, he had never physically harmed them, but he certainly hadn't always acted or spoken in ways that did their psychological health any good.

I stewed over it the whole drive back. The boys chattered away excitedly about which of their toys they would play with first, clearly happy about the thought of going home. I was glad for them in a way, and would worry about them less knowing they were eager to go. When we walked into the kitchen, Esme greeted me with a sympathetic look, and I knew she shared some of my misgivings. We all made a good effort of hiding it from the boys and played games with them with renewed enthusiasm before making lunch together. The kitchen was a noisy and messy hive of activity, only quieting when we finally sat down to eat. In the end, I resigned myself with the thought that their happiness came first, and since they wanted to go home with their father, I would just have to suck it up. I was sure Esme would negotiate a way for us to maintain contact, so I would just have to do my best to go along with it so I could still see them.

With a heavy heart, I helped the boys pack up their things, carefully wrapping up the framed photo of Mom that had sat between their beds for them to take with them. I gave them both a fierce hug and a million kisses before making my excuses and fleeing the house. In truth, I did have things to attend to, but us adults all knew it was a just pretext to avoid seeing Phil when he came for my brothers. Alice would follow as soon as they all left, and we were both going back to our own little home.

I went to the police station to fill out the mountain of paperwork required to get copies of all the relevant reports. Thankfully, I did not run into either Sam or the chief. The officer who had gawked at the scene I made when I visited four days ago manned the desk. He watched me warily as I wrote and signed everything in triplicate. When I requested the return of any items removed from the house when Mom's body was recovered, he stared at me incredulously. I had to assure him several times that I really did want them, regardless of their state. In the end, I threatened to go over his head, finally extracting an assurance that he would contact Phil and offer them to him first. If Phil didn't want whatever bed linen and clothing they had seized, then I would be called to collect them. I left with a thick stack of photocopied reports and a sealed envelope of scene pictures.

That task done, I went home and, curious, flicked through a few pages of the toxicology report. It contained several tables of long chemical names, ratios and clearance rates. The preliminary findings where that traces of benzodiazepines and imidazapyridine class drugs had been found in Mom's system. Samples had been sent to the state lab for further analysis, and the disclaimer stated it could take up to a month to release the final report. I wasn't ready to confront the scene report yet, so I laid it aside. I sat at my laptop for a while and chatted with Rachael on Facebook, studiously avoiding my wall with all its messages of sympathy. Rachael had lost her mother in a car accident when she was twelve, so she understood some of what I was going through. I ordered a copy of Mom's death certificate as Edward instructed, paying the added fee for express delivery. I also surfed a few home improvement sites just for fun, bookmarking some promising pages.

When Alice got home, by unspoken agreement, we avoided discussing how things had gone with the boys. Instead, we sat down and sketched out plans, color schemes, and wish lists for our planned renovations. We debated about expanding the downstairs, but in the end, settled on adding a laundry room and half bath to the back of the house, and making the rest a covered porch. Currently, our washer and dryer took up precious space in our only bathroom upstairs, and if we relocated them elsewhere, we could remodel and modernize the bathroom. We threw together some supper as we talked finances and contractors. After clearing away and doing the dishes, we drifted into the living room.

"You know, I think this is the first night we have spent together at home in the last two weeks," Alice mused, her head resting against the back of the sofa. "I'm not used to having this much down time. What are we going to do with it?"

"Well, you could give me a mani-pedi and I could do your hair," I suggested helpfully.

We looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Neither of us could ever be considered girly girls by any stretch of the imagination. As we grew up, our mutual fascination with animals often meant wearing old clothes, getting dirty and covered in animal hair, and cleaning up all kinds of manure. Our jobs involved much of the same, our wardrobes and no fuss presentation reflecting that.

"Like I'd ever let you touch my hair," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Like you'd know what to do with a bottle of nail polish," I retorted. "At least I know how to braid a nice show-class horse's tail," I said in an injured tone. "Screw that pampering shit. Let's do what real women do on their night off."

We raced each other to the kitchen, Alice heading for her not-so-secret stash and me rifling through the freezer. I thanked Alice profusely for having the forethought to shop before coming home. Armed with a tub of cheesecake brownie ice cream, M & M's, potato chips, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, we changed into our oldest, comfiest pajamas and argued good-naturedly about which TV show to bitch at. _America's Next Top Model_ beat _What Not to Wear_ hands down, and we sat picking apart the contestants, their outfits and performances. We stuffed our faces, washing everything down with diet Coke.

When I crawled into bed, I allowed my mind to drift for a while. Another day without my mother had passed. Tomorrow would be the first week anniversary of her death. Although it had been a consuming and confusing week, in some ways, it felt like she had just been on a vacation. Although I knew she was gone forever, it all still felt very surreal at times, and thinking about building a life without her comforting presence in the background was beyond scary. I knew as more time passed, I would feel her loss more, would think and remember when I did something that brought it all back again. My brothers going home with their dad was the just first step in the transition back to real life. All too soon, I would be back in my old routine and working again.

I wasn't sure that I was going to enjoy dealing with the transition much, but at least it would be a huge improvement over what had come before. I also had the comforting thought of having a new _friend, _Edward, to help me through. We had a huge challenge ahead of us, but at least we were working on it together.


	13. Return to the Fold

**Many thanks to my beta team of StoryPainter and irelandk. I got a smiley face back with my suggested edits this week! **

**Big thank-you's to Shazzio, my pre-reader. Everything she says is gold. Shaz, make sure WellHungHubby reads that statement!**

**I don't have words enough for the small but faithful group of readers who review every chapter. It really makes such a difference to everything, and every reader has you to thank for keeping me motivated.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 13-Return to the Fold<strong>

"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."

I stirred, rousing slowly from a deep sleep.

"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."

Rolling over, I felt around blindly for my clock radio and whacked the snooze button.

"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."

Groaning, I sat up, trying to kick-start my sluggish brain enough to find the source of the god-awful annoying noise. Opening my eyes, I could see the bright glow of my phone's screen. I picked it up and answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" I tried without success to suppress a giant, jaw-cracking yawn.

"Bella! I'm so sorry to wake you, but we're coming over to get you." It was Esme, her voice laced with worry.

"What?" I was instantly alert, wondering what emergency could possibly warrant a call at this hour of the morning.

"It's the boys. Phil rang and said they were crying so much he didn't know what else to do. We're on our way to get them now, and we'll stop by to pick you up on the way through."

"I'll be waiting," I replied as I pushed my covers off. Within a few minutes, I had thrown on some shoes and covered my pajamas with a coat. Heading down to the kitchen, I scrawled a hasty note to Alice, marking down the time and reason for my absence. That done, I waited by the front door, bolting outside as soon as I saw the shine of headlights coming down our road. I threw myself in the back seat, almost squashing poor Edna in my rush to close the door and be on our way. Peering through the dim interior at my aunt and uncle, I could see both were still in their night clothes too. They must have panicked. It was rare to see Esme in her pajamas at home, yet here she was, venturing out, dressed in her flannel sleep pants with one of Carlisle's sweaters over the top. Carlisle's hair was flat on one side and sticking up all over the place on the other, further evidence of their hurried flight.

"Phil said they've been running riot since he picked them up," Esme explained as she swiveled in her seat to face me. "From the little he said, it seems he fed them junk all day and let them fall asleep in front of the television. Corin woke up first and it sounds like Phil had trouble getting him back to sleep. Then Corin's crying woke up Afton."

"He couldn't even cope with them for one night?" I stormed through gritted teeth. Although I felt bad about my brothers' distress, I couldn't suppress the selfish flare of satisfaction. If he hadn't even managed a single night, he might see sense and let them stay at Esme and Carlisle's indefinitely.

"He did try. He even called his mother over."

My eyes widened with Esme's words. He must really have no idea if he thought his mother's presence would provide any sort of comfort for the boys. They were terrified of her, her cold demeanor and open disdain of them doing little to inspire affection. I sat in silence after that, fuming and worrying by turns.

When we pulled up at the house, I stayed in the car with Edna while Carlisle and Esme went inside. When the front door opened, I briefly heard the sound of the boys' wailing, distressingly loud, even across the wide expanse of lawn that separated us. The noise was abruptly cut off as the door swung shut. Edna and I sat shoulder to shoulder, our noses pressed against the window as we waited and watched. It seemed to take forever before the door opened again, Carlisle emerging carrying a large blanket-wrapped form; Afton, I assumed. Esme clutched Corin, his hair matted with sweat and tears still staining his cheeks. Back in familiar comforting arms, their cries has reduced to whimpers and hiccupping.

Victoria stood grim-faced on the porch, watching as they put both boys in the back seat with me. She was dressed as always; no visible signs of a rushed flight to offer assistance from her.

_Heartless bitch_, I thought to myself. How could she not be moved by the boys' cries?

Corin clung to Esme tightly as she opened the car door and tried to unlock his arms from around her, his cries escalating again and becoming hysterical as he fought against the separation. She murmured reassurances in his ear while I talked softly as well, telling him he was safe, and Edna was with us. Finally, he relaxed his grip and Esme passed him to me. Rearranging his blanket, I buckled him in the seat next to me as Carlisle did the same with Afton. I put an arm around them both and they snuggled into me, their small hands clutching tightly to my coat. None of us said anything to each other when we returned to the Cullen's, our efforts focused entirely on comforting the still distraught boys. Carlisle fetched cups of warm milk as Esme and I murmured reassuring things to calm and settle the boys enough for them to go to sleep. Soon, they were tucked into their usual beds again. Corin lay curled between Esme and Edna, and I sat on Afton's bed stroking his hair.

After a while, Corin's sniffles turned into soft snores. He had been thoroughly exhausted, and hadn't uttered a peep since the rescue. I was more concerned about Afton, knowing that being that little bit older often made him more aware of things than people often suspected. I could sense that he was still unsettled, his small frame still stiff under the weight of his blankets as he lay there, wide-eyed. I waited until Esme's breathing evened out as she also drifted off to sleep before I spoke.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" I asked Afton tentatively, making sure I kept my touches even and light to comfort and reassure him.

"Home isn't the same without Mommy. Daddy tried to make it fun, but Corin kept looking for her everywhere." His huge eyes blinked and drooped as he fought against tiredness, not wanting give in to it yet.

Sometimes, it seemed too easy to forget how young Corin was. He always had a way with words and was able to express himself well, despite his obvious distress.

"Corin kept waking up, and then he wet his bed. Daddy got mad and was growling at him to go to sleep." He hiccupped and his mouth twisted as he began to get upset again. "Then Grandmama yelled at Corin for being such a baby and we got really scared."

"It's okay, Afton, you're both okay now," I soothed, kissing his cheek. "You don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to."

"I don't want to have a sleep over there ever again," Afton said with a fierce tone as he clutched at his coverlet.

It didn't escape me that he didn't refer to it as home, just "_there_." He also called it a sleep over, something you usually did at other people's houses, not your own.

"Please don't make us, Bella," Afton pleaded. His eyes were shining as he begged, tearing at my insides. How could I promise him this, even though I desperately wanted to prevent a similar disaster from ever recurring? Then again, how could I not? My mind worked frantically for some way to allay his fears. In the end, I grasped at a slender straw.

"Sweetie, I can't promise anything, but I do have a suggestion. Remember how Dr. Goff said you could write down things and put them in a worry box? Since I can tell that this is a real big worry for you, we should write that down." After tonight, I'd be phoning her myself in the morning to arrange an emergency session. The worry box was a suggestion she had made so issues could be addressed at therapy, but that hadn't really been necessary before now. "I think she might have some good ideas that might help in some way."

Afton nodded, so I ducked downstairs quickly to grab some paper and an empty cereal box out of the recycle container. Returning to their room, I got him to dictate his worry for me to write out, showing it to him before stuffing it in the box.

"Any other things?" I asked.

"All Mommy's things were gone and her room looked different. Her pictures were gone, too. It made Corin go all funny," he added, his face puzzled. "That's why he kept looking for her. He wanted to make sure that Mommy was real and not pretend, like how movies are."

The hole his earlier words had torn opened up even further, and it was all I could do not to dissolve into a sobbing mess. I had worried enough about how I could keep her memory alive for myself. Learning that Corin was beginning to doubt already made me hurt deeply for him.

"Mommy was real, Afton. I'll make sure you and Corin have any of her things you need to help you remember. I have lots of pictures, and so does Aunty Esme. We'll keep talking about her all the time so you never forget, okay?"

"Okay," he replied in a subdued voice. "Can we get a picture now so I can kiss Mommy goodnight? I'm really tired."

I made another quick trip downstairs, retuning with a framed portrait of Mom and Esme from its home in the living room. After he kissed it, I placed it where the other one had been, promising to tell him a story about Mommy until he fell asleep. I recounted my memories of how excited Mom had been when she first told me she and Phil were expecting a baby. I spoke of all the shopping trips I had been dragged along on and of Mom's interesting attempts at knitting bootees and bonnets. I told him about the very first time I saw him in our mother's arms, how much Mom had cooed over him, how she had pointed out every perfect feature and how adorable she thought they were. Smiling at the memory, I turned to ruffle his hair, only to find him deeply asleep, his posture and face relaxed at last. Wriggling into a comfortable position next to him, I covered myself with a spare blanket and joined him in the land of nod.

We all slept in late, the boys seemingly back to their usual happy dispositions in familiar surroundings. I did ring Dr. Goff's office, and after explaining what had happened, we were given an appointment for later in the afternoon. Cornering Esme in the kitchen, I told her about Afton's four a.m. confession, comforting her as she cried after. Once she was sufficiently calm, we made plans to show some of the many home movies Esme had of family events, thinking up ways we could keep their memories of Mom alive. After breakfast, Alice joined us and we did some craft work with them, making scrapbooks of all their favorite things. Together, we made one with each of the boys, filled with pictures cut from magazines and toy catalogues. We also made one about all of Mom's favorite things for the boys to keep. We crammed it with snapshots and pictures, including things from her family and favorite color to the foods and holiday places she liked best. It was a fun activity, and we laughed as we exchanged amusing holiday stories, sharing our many memories.

After lunch, I sat outside watching the boys play in the yard, smiling at their antics as they played fetch with Edna and a fuzzy, slobbery tennis ball. These were the times I wished I could bottle; beautiful moments that I wanted to preserve forever, to bring out whenever I needed cheering up. It would be a patented antidote for miserable moments, I thought to myself. That made me think about Mom again, and I wondered how she could have ever gotten so down living with such joyful innocence around her.

The thought made me feel guilty. Rationally, I knew that depression was an illness, a chemical imbalance that had little to do with the circumstances of sufferers' lives. I also realized that reactive depression had many facets and causes, and having wonderful children was not a panacea for everything. If anything, knowing Mom, it probably would have contributed to her sense of guilt, worrying about the potential effects on them. Along with Esme's urging, their wellbeing had no doubt provided her with significant motivation to seek help and start on the medication.

I started thinking about the bottle of pills I had seen on her nightstand. Something about them niggled at my subconscious. Unable to find the source of my mental itch, it periodically returned to distract me throughout the rest of the day.

Midafternoon, we all went to visit Dr. Goff again, our large group once again drawing attention in the small waiting room. After spending time with the boys, Alice and I watched them as Esme and Carlisle spoke with her. I was eager to know what they had discussed, but knew it would have to wait. Thankfully, worn out from their sleepless night, Corin and Afton fell asleep on the ride home, and once they were settled into their beds for a nap, we sat around the kitchen table to hear the news.

Dr. Goff had been very concerned with the setback the disastrous return home had caused. She asked some guarded questions about Phil and what had occurred. Although Phil was paying for the sessions, she hadn't actually met him in person, a situation she seemed eager to rectify.

"She wanted to know about Phil's relationship with them," Carlisle stated. "I told her that he was normally involved, but wasn't used to the hands-on end of parenting."

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

"That was a tactful way to put it, but I suppose it is the truth," Esme justified. "He might not have ever changed a diaper, but he did other things with them."

"Yeah, he used to take them to the park sometimes. He also did the drop off and pick up run a lot, too," Alice added, scratching around for positive things to say.

"So he did some stuff, but he never actually spent more than a couple of hours on his own looking after them," I argued. "He had to call his Mommy for advice last night, and look how that went!" Alice and I babysat for them more times than ever Phil had, and felt, therefore, I had some right to comment on it.

"Well, Dr. Goff said until Phil makes arrangements otherwise, we need to make sure the boys are supported as they get used to spending time together as a family without Renee," Esme explained. "She's going to phone Phil and set up a few sessions with him and the boys together."

Carlisle looked at me with concern. "She also suggested that we set up some sort of timetable of regular visits so the boys get used to the idea of eventually going back home with Phil full-time. Since it looks like they will be here for a little longer, she suggested we invite him to come for a family dinner at least once a week."

"Dinner? Here?" My voice rose to a childish whine. "How can you think of inviting that man into your home after he abused Mom? He hit her, remember. You told me so yourselves." I was beginning to feel a sense of increasing outrage and more than a little frustration.

Esme reached over to grip my shaking hands, her eyes full of understanding. "Honey, I don't like the idea much myself but I'd do it for them. Those boys are the most important thing in our lives at the moment. I'd do anything for them, and I know you would, too." She reached out to stroke my arm in a calming gesture. "We've had time to get used to the knowledge of what Phil did; you haven't. It won't be any different from every other time we've had to see him since that night."

Looking at my aunt, I could only feel a pang for how much generosity of spirit she and my uncle had. I wasn't in any kind of mood to do Phil any favors, my dislike of him too deep seated after so many years.

"Do I have to be there?" I asked, fervently hoping otherwise, but willing, just as Esme said, do almost anything for my brothers.

"You don't have to if you'd rather not," Carlisle soothed. "Esther did have some good advice about how much we should all be involved, but before we get to that, she had some more recommendations." Carlisle outlined that the doctor had proposed that Phil take the boys home at least one night a week for supper. She intended to encourage Phil and the boys to spend time on the weekends together as well. Although I didn't like it much, I could see the sense in her plan. By spending set intervals together in the family home, both Phil and the boys would have time to adjust to the new situation to make the eventual transition to full-time care smoother. By returning them to Esme and Carlisle's every night, they would have a stable bed time routine to provide them with the security they currently needed. Scheduling times and making things more predictable for the boys would also help their adjustment.

"So, now we have to discuss another matter," Carlisle said with a trace of reluctance. "Dr. Goff has encouraged us to discuss contingency plans together. She wanted to know what we thought of doing if Phil felt he was unable to care for the boys on a more permanent basis." He shared a look with Esme. I had seen them do this many times, seeming to share a whole conversation in one quick glance.

I wasn't entirely surprised by the question, having briefly considered it myself in the immediate aftermath of Mom's death.

I was twenty-four years old. I had been almost five when my mother was my age. It was odd to think of being so young and being a mother, though when I thought of my Mom doing it, it seemed so natural and right. Even though I would gladly give my life for my brothers, I didn't know if I was ready for the weighty responsibility of parenthood.

Was I ready? Could I be everything they needed? Did I have what it took? I wasn't so sure…

I felt a confusing array of emotions: doubt, hope, determination, panic, and obligation. My unease must have been obvious, and Esme squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"Carlisle and I talked about it this morning after we got back from Phil's. We're more than happy to become their guardians, if it comes to that. We have the time, space, and resources to do it, and we love them like we do our own Alice."

I looked at my aunt and uncle, taking in their resolute and open expressions, almost a mirror of each other's.

"We don't doubt you could do it, Bella, and if you did want to, you'd have our full support," Esme continued. "We just wanted you to know that we're more than happy to take them. You don't have to sacrifice your own plans for the future. Of course, that's not what we'd consider ourselves to be doing either," she rushed to reassure me. "We would've had more children of our own after Alice if we could, but making them ours is the next best thing. We're just offering an alternative."

Two fat tears seeped out, blurring my vision as I looked at their hopeful faces. They spilled over as I stood, moving to stand between my aunt and uncle and throwing my arms across their shoulders in an awkward hug. I felt guilty for my sense of relief at their offer, wondering what that might say about me and my commitment to my own siblings, but it was soon put to rest.

"We really want to this−for them and for us," Carlisle asserted. Looking at them both, I could see that their offer was genuine.

Once tissues had been passed all around and we were all sitting back at the table, we discussed other things the doctor had said. She reinforced the need to keep hostilities between Phil and me to a minimum, and not to confuse the boys too much with blurred role boundaries. If Esme and Carlisle were to assume a parenting role, then I would have to continue to be involved as a sister, not as a surrogate mother. We had all been managing well enough so far, but Dr. Goff was firm in making sure that the boys had reliability and routine to ground them.

Soon, small footsteps interrupted our discussion as Corin and Edna entered the kitchen. His eyes were still a little droopy from his nap as he crawled into Esme's lap and buried his face in her shirt. As I watched him, I felt that we had made the right decision. He had been seeking maternal comfort and reassurance from Esme from the very start, something that was an instinctive and essential part of Esme's personality. I couldn't hope to compete with that, and what's more, I didn't want to. No, I was certain that this was in the best interests of my brothers; in fact, it just provided even more fuel for my desire to see Phil fail. The sooner he relinquished his parental involvement, the sooner my brothers would have fitting parents, rather than some half-assed idiot who had no idea. Corin and Afton deserved the very best, and since they couldn't have their own mother, they should have the next best thing−Esme and Carlisle.

We talked a little more about logistics and arrangements. Alice and I planned to stay one more night before returning permanently to our house, allowing us all one more night of togetherness and mutual support before attempting to return to some semblance of usual life. We arranged to have the boys over at our house on Thursday nights, just as they had when Mom went to her weekly book club meeting.

Wanting to get some more clean clothes and pick up a few things, I decided to make a quick trip back home, borrowing Alice's car. After I grabbed what I needed, I sat on my bed and looked at the framed photo of my brothers and I that sat on my nightstand under the window. Afton had made it for my birthday, the macaroni elbows carefully glued around the border and painted with red and blue, adding a cheery touch of color to my room. My heart swelled as I looked at the familiar expression of love and trust on their faces, their round cheeks pressed against mine as they cuddled close to me for the picture.

"Oh, Mom!" I cried out. "I hope you agree that what we decided is best for them. I hope you're not disappointed in me. Again." My throat got all choked up as my vision blurred with tears. "I know I wasn't always the best daughter, and I am _so_ sorry about that now I can't fix it anymore. I'm really trying to be the best sister I can be, though."

Although the window was closed, the nylon lace curtains fluttered slightly as the clouds parted outside, letting a buttery yellow ray of sun shine in. Lighting the few items I had on the nightstand, the sunbeam made the picture seem as if it was glowing. It was like a sign, and I gasped, clutching a hand to my chest. I'd never believed in that kind of thing before, but it just seemed too coincidental. Besides, I wanted to think Mom could hear me and find some way to reach out to me. It was comforting and uplifting.

"Mom?" I asked with a shaky breath. "Does that mean it's okay with you?" As if in response, the late afternoon sun got brighter, almost blinding me. "_Thank you_ ," I replied reverently, feeling as if I, too, was radiating golden light. It was an altogether strange and surreal experience but left me feeling a certain sense of peace, a lightness of spirit for the first time in more than a week.

Gathering my things, I made my way downstairs. As I tried to lock up, I had to juggle keys, my phone, two bags, and the file of items I had gotten from the police the day before. Moving things from one arm to the other to free up my hand, I lost my precarious grasp on the manila folder, and papers began to fly out, fluttering on the ground around me. Dropping the bags, I gathered the photocopies up, thankful that the envelope of scene photos had remained sealed. I didn't want the precious moment I had just been given spoiled by seeing the stark images that recorded of my mother's last moments. As I picked up the last piece of paper, my eye caught on a table of figures for a minute before I shoved it back in the file. Like the proverbial light bulb moment, I had an epiphany, my earlier mental itching finally hitting pay dirt. Snatching the page back out again, I scanned the toxicology report with new eyes.

The report recorded the presence of two distinct types of medication in Mom's blood stream at the time of her death. Yet when I had found her prescription in her bag, only one of the three medications ordered had been dispensed. I had also seen only the one pill bottle at her bedside when I had found her. Where had the other medication come from?

Throwing everything in the front seat of Alice's car, I sent her a text saying I was going to run a few errands and took off. First, I went to the post office to sign for the copy of Mom's death certificate that had arrived by express registered mail. I was glad it was a Friday, since that meant later business hours. I visited all five of Port Angeles' pharmacies, and was on my way back to Esme's when my phone rang. I briefly glanced at the caller identification before answering.

"Edward, I've got news!" I rushed out, not giving him the chance to say anything. "I think Mom was drugged the night she died. I've just spent an hour checking out every drug store in town and none of them issued her one of the medications found during the autopsy. A few tried to use the confidentiality law thing, but once I showed them the death certificate, they caved straight away. Must have been worried about being sued for drug interactions or something."

"Good detective work, Bella!" Edward praised. "I've got some news for you, too. Well, not exactly good news, but things relevant to our case. A woman Phil was supposedly close to at a previous job disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Also, when I spoke to Amanda Reed, she said someone had been harassing your mother recently."

"Oh? So the things she said in the letter were real? Was it Phil?"

"No, it wasn't. Can we meet up somewhere so I can explain the whole thing?"

For some reason, my heart started beating faster, and I wondered how soon we could make a time. "Sure. Um…would you be willing to come to my aunt's house? I want to spend another night with my brothers, and I've already been away from them longer than I intended. Is that okay?"

"That would be fine," Edward replied, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Your uncle said something to me about catching up in a more everyday setting, so I suppose this counts. And, Bella?"

"Yeah?" I replied, hanging off his every word.

"Amanda said she saw someone deflating your Mom's tires when she was working one night but get this−it was a woman."

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><p><strong>Sorry, but real life committments mean I won't be updating for 2 weeks again. I need to write 5000 words for my doctrate supervisor by Wednesday. Honestly, I'd much rather be doing this. I'm a terrible procrastinator and I'm paying the price for not pulling my finger out sooner *glum look* <strong>

**By the way, next Saturday the 5th of May is International Midwives Day, a big day on my personal calender. Happy Midwives Day to all my colleagues far and wide.**


	14. Under the Microscope

**Thanks again to my beta team of StoryPainter and irelandk. Your tweaks made it better.**

**Love and inappropriate kisses for my pre-reader, Shazzio. She rose from her sickbed to give me prompt feedback and reassurance. Congrats too, lovey, for winning 'Best Edward' in the "'Til the World Ends" competition.**

**My apologies for being a day late. I've been working hard to meet my work and study deadlines so I could devote myself to this without feeling so guilty about it. Mission finally accomplished!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14-Under the microscope<strong>

I sat with the boys as they played in the family room. Their attention was glued on their amazing construction of Lego blocks, wooden train tracks, and an assortment of cardboard box buildings while mine was on the window. Every so often, I would get up and pull aside the curtain, peering outside to check if I had missed his arrival. Finally, I saw the red car making its way leisurely up the long driveway. When the knock came, I walked slowly to the front door in a forced pretense of patience. Corin was already swinging it open.

"Hi. Wanna build Lego with us?" Corin asked Edward. "Me and Afton are making stuff for Thomas and Gordon."

"Afton and _I,_" I automatically corrected. As the daughter of a teacher, it had become an ingrained habit to correct their speech, just as Mom would have done, had she been here.

Edward gave me a wide smile in greeting before squatting down to focus on Corin.

"I know those names. Are you talking about Thomas the Tank and Gordon the Really Useful Engine?" Edward asked.

Corin nodded enthusiastically. "Come look. Afton made a bridge!" He ran off, and Edward gave me an apologetic shrug before following. I watched in amusement while Edward listened attentively to the boys as they tripped over each other to show him every feature of their haphazard creation.

"How come you know about Thomas anyway?" Afton asked when he finally calmed down enough to draw breath. "Old people like you don't know about kids' stuff."

I was about to jump in and scold him for his tactlessness, but Edward answered before I had a chance.

"Are you kidding me? I've got three nephews that are a little bit older than you two. I think I've seen every Thomas DVD and played with every tank and engine they have," he explained. To prove his authenticity, he pointed out every one the boys had by name. Suitably impressed, Edward was given the honor of being allowed to play. The boys even offered him Thomas to push along the track. As the most fought over toy train, it was a sign of just how quickly they had accepted him.

I sat on the couch and continued to watch them together, smiling to myself at the relaxed scene. Every now and then, Edward would catch my eye and smile back. Although I was eager to exchange news with Edward, I was reluctant to end the boys' fun.

Esme came into the family room about fifteen minutes later, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's ready! Time to wash your hands, boys."

Afton and Corin scrambled up immediately, Edward rising slowly with a grimace and an audible pop from his knees.

"Esmom, can−" Corin looked at Edward, frowning as he thought for a moment. "Hey, what's your name anyway?"

Esme inhaled sharply and her hand flew to her chest at Corin's slip, and I took in the tender but sorrowful expression on her face. Neither of the boys had called her mom before, and although it was an unconscious blurt, I was sure it wouldn't be long before both of them did it more frequently. I felt torn about it, glad they were adjusting but sad at the thought of Mom being replaced. Rationally, I knew that it didn't mean she was forgotten, but it still stung a little.

Picking up on the slight tension Esme and I were radiating, Edward spoke up.

"I'm Edward, a friend of Bella's," he replied, solemnly sticking out his hand to shake with first Corin and then Afton. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

They giggled, enthusiastically pumping his hand in turns.

"Can Edward stay for supper?" Corin begged Esme, jumping up and down.

"Sure, honey," Esme replied with a shaky smile, reaching down to stroke his cheek. "That is, if he'd like to join us?" She looked over to Edward in askance. "Bella told me you were coming for a visit, so I made extra just in case. Now go wash up boys, and show Edward where the bathroom is."

Not giving him time to accept or reply, the boys grabbed a hand each and dragged Edward through the hall. With a last concerned look after Edward, I followed Esme into the kitchen to help get ready, while Alice finished setting the table. Soon after, the swinging kitchen door flew open with a bang and the boys rocketed through, Edward and Carlisle behind them, entering at a more sedate pace. Carlisle and Edward were making small talk and seemed comfortable enough in each other's presence. For some reason, it was important to me that everyone accepted Edward.

When I had told Esme earlier that Edward was coming over, she mentioned meeting him at the funeral and commented how nice she thought he seemed, her eyes assessing me for some kind of reaction. I wasn't sure what she was after and struggled to find a plausible reason to give her for his impromptu visit. I didn't want to upset my aunt by explaining my doubts about the manner of Mom's death. If it all came to nothing, then Esme would remain none-the-wiser. If we found something, I would deal with whatever the fallout might be as events unfolded. In the end, I explained how Edward and I had met, and that our affable chat at church Sunday past had led to a friendship of sorts. She nodded in a knowing way and just added some more potatoes to the pot she was preparing.

Once all the food had been plated and served, I went to sit down, realizing the only empty chair left was next to Edward. I glanced at Alice and Esme in suspicion, but they were both studiously avoiding my gaze, so I took my seat without comment. The room was quiet for a while as we ate, Carlisle eventually breaking the silence by clearing his throat and speaking.

"So, Edward, I understand you're relatively new to Port Angeles?"

Edward took a sip of his water to clear his mouth before replying.

"Yes, sir. Jasper Whitlock and I became good friends at college. When he called with the job offer, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up," Edward said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Oh? And enough of the 'sir' business. Call me Carlisle," he said with a genuine smile. "I thought that it generally went the other way. Journalists typically move from a small outfit to a bigger one, don't they? Chasing better opportunities and all that?"

Edward seemed to consider how to best respond to Carlisle's implied question before answering.

"Well, in a bigger paper like the _Times_, you tend to get pigeon-holed fast. You start on whatever beat you're assigned, and you pretty much stay there. If you're ambitious, you can work your way up the ladder to senior reporter and so on." His brow furrowed as he tried to explain himself better. "It wasn't that I had no ambition. It's just that I wanted a wider experience, a different path." He put his fork down as he talked, his free hand gesturing as he elaborated. "At the _Times_, a journalist wrote the story and a photographer took the accompanying picture. The editor might add comment occasionally. You submit your piece, which someone else formats and another department altogether decides where to place and how to lay the page out. Here in PA, I do a bit of everything. I take my own photos, and work a number of different beats. All the journalistic and design staff meets to decide on final placement and layout. The whole process gives me much more say artistically, and I get to be involved producing the whole paper, rather than just my own item."

"Chicago's loss is our gain, then," Alice added with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"It sounds like you thought a lot about it before making the move," Carlisle said in approval.

"What about your family? Don't you miss them, being so far away?" asked Esme, her concern for people's wellbeing always consuming her thoughts.

"I do miss them, but I've always been pretty independent. My two older sisters have produced a gaggle of grandbabies to keep my Mom both busy and content while Dad's at work. I think they've filled in any gaps I might have left. I visit often, but they understand that I have my own life. My dad was initially disappointed that I didn't follow him into medicine, but eventually realized it wouldn't have made me happy." Edward smiled wryly. "Besides, I've seen how many hours doctors work, and how demanding it is on their family. That, among other reasons, was enough to turn me off becoming a doctor."

A lively conversation flowed as we compared doctor and vet stories. Edward had seen and heard plenty over the years and was very interested in hearing how similar and yet how different the professions were.

Everything was comfortable and cozy, and it was nice to see how seamlessly Edward fit in. I felt myself relax even more with the knowledge, enjoying the witty banter and pleasant company. It was only when Alice accidently nudged me as she leaned over the table to clear away the dishes that I realized how close Edward and I were sitting. Our thighs and shoulders were touching, leaving virtually no gap between us. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of his presence; the way his warmth radiated against me, the firmness of his muscular legs pressing against mine, the fresh smell of his aftershave filling my senses. My heart started to beat a little faster as I stared at Edward with new eyes. I hardly paid attention to the conversation he was having with the others, listening only enough to gather that he was talking about his two sisters, and how his English-born father had named him and his eldest sister after himself and his wife. Instead, I watched his lips, thinking about how full and plump they looked.

_I wonder what they would feel like pressed against mine?_ I wondered absentmindedly.

I stared at his eyes, noticing how they almost twinkled at times, especially when he laughed. He laughed often, the sound rich and honest; not the polite but restrained chuckle people often did just to be nice. His eyes crinkled when he laughed too, the lines making him look boyish rather than old.

It made me feel…sort of warm and light.

My drifting thoughts were rudely and painfully interrupted by a firm kick on my shin, making me gasp and wince as I turned to glare at Alice across the table. She tapped the back of her index finger underneath her chin. My brows drew together as I looked back at her, bewildered. Sighing quietly in exasperation, she hit the underside of her chin with her palm, and finally I got that she was telling me that I must have been staring with my mouth open, ready to gather flies.

I shut my mouth with a scowl, sending her my best death glare to hide my embarrassment, and tried to pick up the thread of the conversation.

"No, I don't have any hidden skeletons," Edward was reassuring Carlisle.

Horrified, I immediately tried to read Edward's body language while he continued speaking, hoping my uncle's forthrightness hadn't offended him.

"I'm pretty boring, really," he said with a chuckle. "No rampaging ex, no addicted or neglectful parents, no dark and intriguing past. I've never even had so much as a parking ticket."

"That's refreshing to hear," Carlisle replied in a relieved tone. "I know I sound ancient and too much like my father when I say this, but you young people live such complicated lives these days. It seems everyone amasses a stack of baggage before they can even legally buy themselves a drink to drown their sorrows. It seems so common, its become almost a cliché."

"I think I missed something important here," I interrupted. "Were you grilling our guest?" I demanded of Carlisle. "Really? Shame on you!" I scolded, wagging my finger at him.

"Oh pooh, Bella," Esme retorted with an offhand wave. "You know he can't help himself after what happened in that share house when you and Alice were away at college." She turned to Edward. "Their landlord, Tyler, seemed like such a nice young man to start with, but he pawned some of the girls' things and sold their contact details to some weird dating site to fund his _Magic: The Gathering_ obsession. Stupid collectable cards! Drugs I could understand, maybe, but taking advantage of my girls to fund nerd porn? Never again on our watch!"

Edward barked out a surprised laugh. "No need to fear, Esme. My only obsession is expensive photography gear. I can claim deductions for them through my taxes, since I use them legitimately for work. I also fund my habit by selling wildlife shots I take in my spare time. The local tourism providers love using them in their promotional material."

After dessert, Edward insisted on helping Carlisle and Alice clean up and do the dishes as I helped Esme get the boys ready for bed. I had just finished reading them a story when Afton spoke.

"Bell Bell, is Edward your boyfriend?" he asked in his sweet and innocent voice.

I almost choked on my tongue. "Ah, no, he isn't. We only met a little while ago, so we're just getting to know each other," I explained.

"I like him," he said with an emphatic nod. "If you don't want to keep him, maybe he could be Alice's boyfriend? We'd get to play Thomas again and again!"

I know he was only looking at the situation from his little egocentric viewpoint, but the thought roused a sharp new emotion in me. Edward was _my_ friend first and foremost, not my cousin's. Squelching down my sense of indignation, I kissed Afton and then Corin goodnight, reminding him that tomorrow, Alice and I would be going back home, and they would be staying here without us. As Carlisle and Esme came in to tuck the boys in, I returned downstairs.

Finding Edward chatting in the kitchen over coffee with Alice, I wordlessly took him by the hand and led him into the hardly used, formal living room. Pushing him gently onto the sofa, I firmly shut the doors behind me before coming back to sit next to him.

_There! That should keep them all out and give them the message that I need some private time with Edward. _

"Okay, so tell me what you've found," I demanded, wanting to get straight into it.

"Oh. Sure." He stood and patted down his pockets, pulling a battered notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans. No wonder it was a little crumpled; his jeans molded to his body in a very enticing way, leaving scarcely enough room in his pockets for anything else.

Clearing his throat to regain my attention, I looked up and took in his amused and slightly smug expression. Sitting back down, he flipped open his notebook and became all business.

"I drove over to Kingsgate to meet with Phil's previous boss, Brady Fuller. Phil worked for him for about three years, just before he moved here to PA. Phil was one of the most productive agents he had, and he was really sad to see him go."

"So why did he go, did he say?" I asked. I found myself quite curious to hear about Phil's past. He rarely discussed what he had been doing before he met my mom.

"Brady told me Phil spoke often about opening his own office but never seemed to have the capital to do it. Then one day, suddenly he had a partner and had started his own realty company. Less than a month later, he moved away."

"Did he say where the money had come from?" It sounded a little odd to me, but then I wasn't very open minded when it came to Phil, I had to admit to myself.

"Brady said Phil's father had loaned him the money, but I think it might have come from elsewhere." He flicked through the pages before finding and pulling out a small black and white snapshot, the kind that usually comes in a strip of three or four printed on the spot by novelty booths at fairs and cinemas. It was a picture of a slightly younger Phil and a woman. The woman was kissing his cheek as he looked straight ahead at the camera with a cocky grin.

I studied the woman's face. She was classically good looking, with clear skin and high cheekbones that needed no artificial enhancement. It was hard to tell her true age, but my guess would have been early forties. Her face was softened by the love-stuck expression written all over it.

"That's Sasha," said Edward in a quiet voice. "She was one of Brady's office girls. He said, initially, he gave her the job as a favor for a friend. Sasha had been a caregiver for her sick mother almost her whole life. After her mother passed away and the welfare and insurance benefits stopped, Sasha had to find a job quickly to support herself, so Brady took her on. She had led a very sheltered life, and had never really had an opportunity to experience or date much."

"She dated Phil?" I queried, looking at the picture again. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to have done so, since this was before he had met my mom.

"Well, no. Brady said they were friendly at work, but that Phil flirted harmlessly with everyone, single or married. At least, he used to think it was harmless, but then someone found that picture."

That sounded like Phil. I had to give him one thing; he knew how to compliment someone without making it sound like empty flattery. He was good at listening to people and establishing an easy rapport with them. He remembered names and little random facts from previous conversations, which was why people thought he was so charming.

"Just before Phil left, Sasha asked for some vacation time," Edward related.

I realized I really liked listening to the sound of his voice. He could have been discussing the grossest thing I could think of, like the sounds made during orthopedic surgery, and I would have listened as raptly as I was doing now.

"She said she had met someone and they were going on a trip to Fiji to see whether things panned out into something more permanent. Brady was a bit concerned because he knew that, despite her age, Sasha was a bit naïve. Everyone in the office liked Sasha and he wanted to look out for her. He hadn't heard any gossip about Sasha's budding romance or potential boyfriend, which in itself was a little unusual in retrospect, he admitted. Sasha, apparently, laughed him off and said she and her man had been talking by phone and online for a while, and just preferred to keep things private for now. Brady gave her the time off and didn't think much of it."

"So what happened?" I wondered where Edward was going with this, and why Sasha was important.

"I'm getting to it, I promise," Edward stated, shifting in his seat. "So, Sasha went on vacation, Phil handed his notice in and they hastily planned his going away party. Brady said someone mentioned trying to call Sasha to make sure she could come, since she was supposed to be back by the night of the party. He got an email back the same day, ostensibly from her, asking to extend her time off by a further two weeks. Phil left and things settled−except Sasha never came back. She didn't come to work as expected once her vacation time was over. They got no explanatory phone call or emails, and when they tried calling her cell phone or home, they got a disconnected message. Finally, Brady called the friend who asked him to give her the job and he went to her house to check on her."

I stare into the brilliant green of Edward's eyes and the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I knew that whatever I heard next wouldn't be good.

"When he got there, he found the house had been sold and emptied, and there was no sign of Sasha at all. Brady and his friend tried to report her missing, but the police did their usual and said that since she was an adult, a certain amount of time had to elapse before they could lodge a report. After two weeks with no further word about Sasha, they tried again."

Edward flips to another page crammed with his tiny, neat handwriting.

"I spoke to the investigating officer," he continued. "He said they searched the house and found nothing suspicious, but all of her assets had been liquidized in the previous month before her disappearance and her bank account closed. She used another realtor to sell her house and told them she was planning on moving overseas with her new fiancé. The police then started speaking to travel agencies, airlines, and the Fijian embassy, but found no evidence she'd ever arranged anything at all. They tried for months to uncover anything dubious without success, and in the end, concluded that since she had arranged everything herself without any signs of obvious coercion, she must have wanted a fresh start or new life. The case was left open, but is no longer actively pursued."

"So where did this picture come from?" I asked, raising the tiny black and white image.

"Brady eventually hired a new girl, and when she was setting up her desk, she found this wedged in the side of the drawer. It's so small that it would have been easy to miss. He was surprised to see Sasha and Phil together, since they had never seemed particularly 'chummy' at work." Edward cocked his head to the side as he looked at the picture too, as if trying to pull more answers from it. "Brady said seeing the picture made him reassess every impression he'd ever had about Phil. He conceded that although he had a great work ethic, he had never really revealed much about his past or personal life. It made Brady wonder how well he had ever really known Phil. He seemed real cut up about it."

"Is there any way to link Phil with her disappearance?" My voice has a hopeful edge I tried unsuccessfully to hide.

"No, not really. Nothing concrete, anyway." He looked as disappointed as I felt. "The police did speak to all of Sasha's workmates, Phil included, but none of them said they knew anything about her mystery boyfriend or her whereabouts. The police file contained a CCTV picture. I got a look at it, but they wouldn't give me a copy. It was taken at her local bank branch while she did her final withdrawal and closed the account. She was in the company of a man wearing thick glasses and a winter cap. I couldn't tell if it was Phil though. The man's face wasn't clear, and he was too bundled up to see much else, almost like he was deliberately trying to hide any identifiable features. The case had been put aside by the time the picture was found, and although Brady phoned it in to the police, no one ever came to follow up on it."

Edward stood again, and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his front pocket.

"What I have worked out is this. When Sasha sold her home, household goods, and emptied her account, the police report estimated the total amount in cash she may have ended up with as about $150,000. Her car was never located, and they couldn't find anything to indicate it was sold or the ownership was transferred." With a solemn look on his face, he unfolded the paper and handed it to me.

I scanned the single sheet, which was a photocopy of a document bearing a seal of lodgment from the Port Angeles court house

"The day after Sasha's last visit to her bank, Phillip Dwyer and Alec Harrow made their partnership official, as per this agreement. They both contributed a co-payment of $160,000 capital to establish their new realty business." His eyes held mine, serious and intense. "I don't believe the timing was coincidental. From the little Jasper has managed to uncover so far, he's pretty confident the money didn't come from Phil's father. I think Sasha may have been the source of the sudden availability of Phil's funds."

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><p><strong>My wonderfully talented friend, Bower-of-Bliss, author of the amazing fic "Drowning, not Waving," has been nominated for Best Original Character. Libby, who forms an integral part of this entertaining and often steamy story, is a both unique and hilarious. The Twilight Eclipse Awards are open for voting until the 19th of may here: http: (2 forward slashes) twilighteclipseawards (dot) blogspot (dot) com (dot) au (forwardslash) p (forward slash) vote (dot) html Just remove the spaces.<strong>

**My own one-shot "Slick Lovin'" was also nominated (much to my astonishment) for Best Humor One Shot. Best of all, Bower-of-Bliss nominated my story!** **To say I was struck speeachless is an understatement. Thank you BoB xxx**

**The next chapter will be up in two weeks :)**


	15. Skeletons in the Closet

**Thank you to my beta team of StoryPainter and irelandk. You are both so speedy and efficient :)**

**Thank you to my pre-reader, Shazzio. You are sweet and supportive, and always give me something to think about. I really value your input.**

**Thanks to YOU, dear reader. As much as I do this for myself, its nice to know someone else thinks its a worthwhile use of my brain power.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15-Skeletons in the Closet<strong>

"_I think Sasha may have been the source of the sudden availability of Phil's funds."_

I stared at Edward, unsure how to follow up his statement. It was like reading some farfetched trashy dime store novel.

"You think Phil somehow managed to convince that woman to pack up her life, sell everything, and give him the money?" Saying it out loud made it seem even more unbelievable.

"I think that a lot of people would do almost anything for love. Look at that picture again." Edward grasped my hand and brought it up to my face. "She was obviously crushing on him big time. Maybe he did plan to take her away somewhere for a vacation, and maybe he didn't. Perhaps he was hoping she would agree to hand over the money if he asked her nicely and explained what it was for. Whatever happened, he got the loot and God knows what happened to Sasha. I don't have a good feeling about it though."

I grimaced. "Neither do I." I looked at the photocopied partnership agreement between Phil and Alec Harrow again, wanting to take my mind off the fate of love-struck and naive Sasha. "You said something about James Dwyer not having the money to lend to Phil?"

"Jasper has been doing a background search on all the Dwyers. It appears James was strictly blue collar before moving to PA five years ago. We can't find any housing records for the first twelve months he lived here, so we assume sonny boy put them up in a rental off the books. What we do know for sure is that James was able to purchase a home four years ago. The records show it was a mortgagee auction, and he got it for a song, but the real surprise is he paid cash for it."

I tried to think back to when Mom and I had first been introduced to Phil's parents. It was shortly after their engagement. I couldn't remember if James had ever said what he did for a living. My memories were soured by their obvious distaste for me and their poorly hidden disapproval of my mother. I had never visited their home, and in fact, had no idea just where in Port Angeles they lived.

"That made Jasper even more curious, so he started digging around. He found your mom's name listed as a director for a company that has been raking it in buying and selling local properties, but when he started tracking where the profits were going, they didn't appear to end up in any of her accounts. He's still picking apart the tangles of some very creative corporate fronts, but he thinks the other director might be Phil's dad. It would explain how he rapidly went from hard-up laborer to a well off retiree."

My head began to throb with the beginning of a headache, and I rubbed my forehead absently. "Mom certainly never mentioned having any sort of business arrangement with James. They barely tolerated each other. She would have complained about having to play nice with him if there was some sort of commercial deal between them."

"Don't worry. Jasper will be able to ferret out the important stuff out. If her name has been used as a dummy to avoid taxes, he'll know soon enough." Edward moved restlessly on his seat, and looked slightly troubled. "I asked him to find out everything he could as a matter of priority after I met with that woman from your mom's work. Remember how I told you Amanda Reed was the only person who noticed something was up with Renee?"

I nodded, recalling all the details he had gone over with me after the funeral.

"Amanda said that she had noticed that, over the last couple of months, your mom had seemed to be a bit preoccupied when they'd talk. She noticed her looking a bit down and frazzled at times too, which wasn't like her. She said it made her watch her closer, since she was concerned something was going on."

I could just picture Amanda doing that. She and my mom had been workmates for years and they had a standing coffee date every Thursday night. Amanda was one of those teachers who seemed to have a sixth sense about trouble brewing, her witchy intuition often helping her head trouble off at the pass, or so Mom had said.

"When Amanda asked her pointblank what was up, Renee was vague at first, and attempted to brush it off as the tiredness that comes with juggling a million and one responsibilities. Then two weeks ago, she found your Mom crying in the parking lot."

I tried to think back to what had been going on with my mom then. She probably had already the anti-anxiety medication by that time. She should have been getting better, but then I remembered my own concerns about the noticeable increase in her drinking. Mom had never been much of a crier before the situation with Phil.

"After dragging Renee into her office, Amanda managed to get your mom to talk. Apparently, someone had been following her for a few days. At first, she tried to explain it away, especially as it wasn't always the same car, but that night, she couldn't deny it anymore. Amanda said she'd also been getting threatening text messages on her mobile from an unknown number and hang-ups on the home phone."

I frowned, a stark flashback of checking through my mom's phone the morning I went to pick out her clothes filling my head. The sent and inbox had both been empty. Practically speaking, how often did people do that? Thinking to my own phone, I knew there would probably be a number of read messages in my inbox that I hadn't deleted, and I almost never cleared the sent folder at all. Had it just been random timing that Mom emptied out her calls just before she died, or was it something more? Then I thought back to the contact list I had casually scrolled through without a second thought, merely curious at that time rather than suspicious. There had been no unfamiliar numbers in it. There was the house number, Phil's mobile and work, the school and daycare center, Mom's work, and both mine and Esme's cell phones. Suddenly, the absence of anything else seemed glaring. Surely, she had friends and other contact details of people and businesses that she used stored in her phone.

Maybe…

Perhaps someone had wiped everything. It was easy enough to do and only took a press of a button. The few numbers that remained may have been stored on the SIM card, rather than in the internal memory, and would therefore have taken a bit more effort to delete. It would also look twice as suspicious for a phone to have nothing in the address book at all. I wonder what might have been on there that someone thought was incriminating enough to get rid of. All this passed through my mind in the blink of an eye, and I became conscious of paying attention to Edward and not zoning out to pursue my own stray side thoughts.

Edward relayed that Amanda had initially urged her to tell Phil, which in turn forced Mom to reveal their current marital difficulties and the resulting standoff she and Phil were having. She also confessed that her father-in-law had been hassling her about signing some 'important' paperwork.

"What?" I interrupted with a rude squawk. "_James _was pestering her? Not Phil?"

"That's what she said. Amanda said Renee wouldn't elaborate on the nature of the papers, and she just assumed it was a petition for divorce, since that was what Renee said she wanted. It is possible," Edward conceded with a shrug. "Although Phil might not have been keen to let your mom go, James might have been more than happy to cut her out and make their separation permanent." He frowned to himself, his expression troubled. "Of course, in light of what Jasper has discovered, they could also have been documents of an entirely different nature."

The throbbing in my head ramped up to a bona fide headache, and the pressure was making it hard to think straight.

"I'll have to work out some way to try to find out what he wanted your mother to sign. I'm not so sure he'd be willing to have an open discussion with me about some of these questions."

I sensed his frustration and could sympathize. It seemed that for every new piece of information we got, a whole new list of questions arose.

"Getting back to the other harassment," Edward continued, "the week before Renee died, Amanda said she saw a woman acting oddly by your mom's car when she was leaving work. The person took off pretty quickly when they noticed they had been seen. After all Renee had told her, Amanda was immediately wary, so she went over to check it out. All four tires had been slashed. She told your mother and drove her home after. Renee refused to report it to the police, saying she was handling things herself and had some idea who was behind the recent intimidation. Amanda was very concerned and begged her to tell someone, but Renee brushed her off."

"There are so many things she didn't tell me," I murmured. "If I had known…I don't know what I could have done, but at least, she wouldn't have faced it alone…"

It must have been terrifying for my mom to realize that someone was stalking her, and she could have been in real danger. What if my suspicions were wrong and it was someone other than Phil who murdered her? Why hadn't she told anyone what was happening? I could understand why she hadn't turned to Phil, even more so if his father had been applying pressure of his own. I tried to rationalize her behavior, struggling to find a way to explain it. Maybe she had tried to deal with it in her own way. The note she left with the lawyer mentioned a number of suspects. Had she started some digging of her own? Had that antagonized the stalker further?

Edward's voice interrupted my internal cogitations, and with great effort, I dragged my agitated brain back to the conversation.

"I asked Amanda is she had any knowledge about the matter your mother was facing at work. She said Renee mentioned she had a major matter at work to deal with on top of her other personal issues, but that she wasn't permitted to discuss it with anyone. Of course, in a small place like the community college, secrets are hard to keep and Amanda heard the gossip."

I rolled my eyes. Of course there would have been gossip. Nothing inflamed peoples' interest more than a salacious piece of dirt on someone to share around. I winced as the eye-rolling caused a sharp stab of pain behind my eyes. I would need to go in search of some Tylenol soon.

"Amanda was very reluctant to say anything that might compromise Renee's reputation. I had to tell her that you and I were working together to look into your mom's death further before she would speak about it." Edward paused for a minute, searching my face. "She said it was rumored that there had been some sort of complaint about inappropriate behavior with a student. Interestingly, it seems that the student wasn't the one who complained but someone else. Renee had received the official notification and a closed hearing had been scheduled for the next week. Of course, she died before it could be held." He looked at me with genuine sympathy, and I knew he was concerned about me falling apart again.

I stared back at him passively, my headache consuming much of my attention now, making my thoughts duller and my stomach queasy.

I tried to examine this revelation a bit more. Having put two and two together, I knew it might be something of this nature. It seemed even more likely in light of what Jacob Black had been trying to hint at after the funeral. I knew I needed to speak to him as a matter of increasing priority. My head was swimming with an overload of new information. There was Sasha's story, the peculiar goings on with Phil's father, and an apparent stalker. Then there was whatever was going on with Jake. I tried to sort out in my head what direction I needed to take next.

"I'll arrange to catch up with Jake as soon as I can. We need to know what happened and he, at least, seems keen to set the record straight. Now I need to tell you what I found out today." I explained about the preliminary toxicology report and how other drugs had been identified, despite Mom not having filled her prescription. I also recounted how I had observed the single pill bottle by her bed, and that I hadn't seen any evidence of any other sort of medication in my perusal of her bathroom and purse.

"So it seems someone else had some knowledge of what her doctor had ordered, but didn't think to check whether or not she had actually been taking the stuff," Edward shrewdly summarized.

I nodded mutely, my thoughts becoming increasingly scattered and difficult to keep on task.

"The benzos in her blood could have been either the Ambien she was prescribed for sleeping or the Xanax. It appears your mom didn't take it willingly or even knowingly. The question then is how it did get in her blood stream. I really need that wine bottle so we can get it tested. I have a feeling we'll find traces of either of those drugs in there. You said she had been drinking often, and the odd taste of any medication would be well disguised. The effects could have easily been passed off as those caused by alcohol." Edward stared at the wall for a minute, frowning fiercely. "Whoever did it definitely seems to have had some insider knowledge of her habits and what was up with her recently."

He turned back to face me abruptly, his stare intense and focused. "And now we know that Phil has some sort of murky history. His father is also looking increasingly dodgy and seems to have been putting some sort of pressure on Renee recently too. Then there was this mystery woman who was stalking and harassing her, who may or may not have been known to her. Talk about a cast of suspects." He grinned grimly. "I'll keep following all those threads to see where they go. You need to check out this Black character to see if there is any way he could be involved in what happened with your mom's passing. I need to get everything we have to the forensic consultant as soon as you can get it all together. May I take the reports and photos you got from the police so I can look over them? I need to make copies and take some notes."

"Ah, sure. I'll just go and get them." I rose from the sofa slowly and went upstairs to the bedroom to retrieve the bag I had crammed everything into. I was beginning to feel the fatigue settle in now, an unpleasant after-effect from the night of broken sleep combined with the nuisance of my headache. By the time I returned to Edward, I was almost swaying with exhaustion.

"Bella? Are you okay?" Edward queried in a slightly panicked tone when I reentered the room. He surveyed me with an alarmed look as I dropped onto the seat next to him, dumping the bag by his side on the floor. "You've gone really pale." His hand automatically reached out and he grasped my forearm to steady me. The heat of his touch radiated pleasantly against the chill that seemed to be overtaking me, and I looked down to absentmindedly admire the sight of his hand on me. His fingers looked so long and shapely, yet so manly and capable…

"Bella?" Edward's voice had risen slightly with his concern, and I jolted back to the present, looking into his worried gaze.

"Sorry for zoning out," I apologized. "I think everything is just catching up with me a little. I'm just really tired. Its all kind of overwhelming, you know? Information overload." Dazedly, I looked back down at his hand on my arm. "I'm sure I'll be okay after a good nights sleep."

"I'd better go then and let you get to bed." Moving his hand under my elbow, Edward stood, bringing me to my feet along with him. He gently squeezed my arm, and I raised my eyes to his again, noting they were blazing with some unidentifiable emotion. "I really enjoyed tonight, Bella. Your family reminds me a lot of my own, and it was a nice place to be again, comfortable and pleasant. Thanks for sharing that with me."

I managed to summon a small smile, feeling a bloom of warmth within.

Releasing me reluctantly, we walked together back to the family room, Edward insisting on giving his thanks to everyone and saying his goodbyes in person. Alone again, we stood by the front door, and Edward once again lightly grasped my arm.

I could get used to this new sensation, of being touched by this intriguing man.

"Bella, I know there has been a lot for you to take in over the last week, and it would be great if we could pin it all on Phil. It's not shaping up as anything as straight-forward as that, though. Try not to let it get to you. You've got both me and Jasper helping with the work, so try to forget about it for one night and concentrate on you."

Time became irrelevant as I watched him move toward me in what seemed like slow motion. My eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed my cheek as gently as butterfly wings.

"Sleep well, Bella," he said, his voice caressing my name and imbuing it with new meaning.

Stupefied, headache temporarily forgotten, I stood rooted to the spot as my hand came up to tenderly cup the spot his lips had so recently been. I heard the creak of the door unfastening, and opening my eyes, caught sight of Edward's profile as he walked through the doorway, his lips quirked with a secret smile.

Closing and locking the door behind him, I leaned against the cool wood, thankful something could temper the heat that seemed to race throughout my body. My heart beat heavy and hard in my chest, once again making me aware of the pressure behind my eyes and the pounding in my head. Deciding to follow Edward's advice, I went straight to bed, crawling between the soothing chill of linen sheets with an appreciative sigh. I was sure I sunk into a deep sleep before my head even hit the pillow.

My dreams were dark and fragmented, full of images of my terrified mother running from one danger to another. I dreamt of slobbering giant furry beasts nipping at her heels as she stood on the precipice of a cliff. In foreboding snatches of other scenes, grotesque harpies tore her to pieces, fragments of tattered and bloody fabric the only pieces left behind to mark her presence at all. At one stage, I woke up burning hot, my pajamas sodden and clingy with sweat. I peeled them off, sluggishly dropping them on the floor next to the bed. I thrashed and groaned, waking myself often.

When morning came, I felt worse, not better. The light stabbed my eyes painfully and my whole body ached in a deep, unrelenting way. It felt like my head had been stuffed with cotton wool and completely separated from my body, and I could hardly string two coherent thoughts together.

"Bella?" Alice's bleary voice questioned in response to my pained moan. The bed moved as she sat to look at me, and I whimpered at the pain the inadvertent movement of the bed caused. I lost time, closing my eyes and ignoring the activity around me as first Alice, and then Esme came to prod me and ask questions. A fierce whispered conversation in the corner followed before the bed dipped again as Alice sat next to me.

"Bella? You're burning up with a fever," she said quietly. "You've obviously picked something up. Mom says you'll be okay, but we're worried about the boys getting sick too. Are you following me?"

I whimpered, wanting to give her some sign I had heard and understood the dilemma, but seemingly unable to muster any words.

"I think I should take you back to our place before they get up for the day, okay? I can take care of you, and hopefully that way, they won't catch it."

With a lot of effort, stumbling, and a considerable amount of dragging, I was dressed in clean pajamas, bundled up, assisted downstairs and put in Alice's car. After what felt like an age later, I was tucked in my own bed, drifting off into a deeper and less troubled sleep.

When the needs of my nagging bladder woke me, muted afternoon light peeked around the edges of my curtains. My body still protested every movement, and I shifted restlessly to try and find a more comfortable position. Giving it up as a lost cause, I heaved myself out of bed and stumbled along to the bathroom, groaning with the resurgence of my headache when I was once again on my feet. When I flopped back into bed, Alice bustled in, murmuring her concerns as she got me to swallow some pills and a few mouthfuls of water. Feebly batting her away once I'd had enough, I lay awake and listless for a while, waiting to go back to sleep.

After a while, the Tylenol worked its magic, and the heaviness and ache deep in my joints dulled a little. With the pain reduced, I found I could also think a little clearer. Instead of feeling brighter, I felt more miserable, and tears oozed out of my eyes as dry sobs wracked my body. I curled into a little ball under the blankets and let the emotional pain fully hit me.

_I wanted my mom._

Every time I had ever been sick, even when I grew to adulthood, my mother would come over and cluck over me, even driving across state lines once when I fell ill while I was away in college. She would be there with a pot of soup or an icy and refreshing bottle of lemonade, a token offering delivered along with gentle touches and soothing words, all maternal comfort and solace. She might stay only a few minutes, but she had always come. Being unashamedly babied in such a way made me feel safe and loved, even though I had grown beyond the need of such things a long time ago. Although Alice was here, it just wasn't the same. I was completely motherless, and nothing else brought home my loss like her absence right at that minute. My heart felt both empty and impossibly heavy. I wasn't just alone; I was lonely, missing both the idea and the physical presence of my mom.

I would never have someone to look after me or out for me in the same way ever again. This would just be the first of many things I would have to face without her. It would be the same, or even worse, with every major milestone that came with life from here on out. There would be no breathless and excited congratulations if and when I took on a new job or phoned with important news. No squeals of pride and joy if I got engaged. No happy tears and nostalgic looks when I shopped for a wedding dress. No carefully posed pictures of three generations when I gave birth to my first baby, her first grandchild. I didn't even know if I wanted or would ever have those things, but knowing that now I would never share them with Mom made me feel bitter for all I had lost. I cried until the pain and swelling of my eyes eclipsed the pain in my head.

I moped around the whole weekend, sleeping often and crying beneath my comforter in between naps. My stomach steadfastly rejected even the sight of heavy food, so Alice kept me nourished with steaming mugs of soup and plates of hot toast. My fever came and went, bringing chills one minute and leaving me dripping with sweat the next. The ache in my head and joints was the worst, since nothing was comfortable for long besides lying in a hot bath. Our pitifully small hot water heater couldn't accommodate my need for that more than once a day, and I was sick of taking tablets to ease my temperature and dull the pains. I was miserable and grouchy. I knew Esme and Alice worried about me, but I made sure Esme kept her distance, not wanting her to get sick and, in turn, infect the boys.

The boys sent me some colorful drawings to cheer me up, and Alice related how Afton demanded they go on a special trip to the supermarket just to buy me some marshmallows. Mom would often add them to the boy's hot chocolate as a treat. I sobbed harder as I drank my sickly sweet cocoa complete with dissolving pink puffy goodness, sad for all the boys would miss out on too.

Sunday afternoon, I woke to the sound of my bedroom door opening, cracking open a gummy eye to see who was coming in. I saw a blur of dark hair just before the edge of my comforter was briefly flicked up, a lithe and pleasantly warm body crawling under the covers with me.

Mischievous dark brown eyes met my own surprised ones.

"Hi. I hear you've been a pain in everyone's ass this weekend. Wallowing much, Swan?"

"Rachael!" I croaked, my voice hoarse from a lack of use. I threw myself at her, hugging her as hard as my fatigued body would allow. She stroked my hair and demanded I tell her everything, so I did, purging myself of all the fear and shock and doubts I felt. I even told her about my suspicions, watching her eyes widen comically as I gave her a sketchy overview of the investigation Edward and I were conducting, leaving out the potential situation with her brother, for now.

"So, you really think she was murdered? Wow, Swan, you don't do anything by halves." She chewed her lip as her eyes assessed me critically. "Well, I can help you out with something, at least. After the big reunion at home this morning, I could tell something was up with my dumb ox of a brother. He looks like shit at the moment−kinda like you do," she said with a sad smile. "I managed to drag him off to the beach for a walk and got him to spill." She paused there, as if finding the words to continue. Flickers of concern and exasperation crossed her face as I waited with bated breath for her to continue.

"It seems he got himself into a…_situation_…without really thinking through the consequences," she said in a soft and guarded voice, watching me cautiously. "He got in over his head pretty quickly, but you really need to hear it directly from Jake." Her mouth screwed up in what I recognized as anger and her eyes blazed. "Stupid shit, he really managed to land in it this time. The trouble is it seems like he took someone with him. Your mom. He…" Her voice petered out, and her expression changed to one of uncertainty and fear.

I lay there, on tenterhooks, waiting for her to continue. In the end, I couldn't take the waiting.

"What, Rachael? For God's sake, just spit it out," I demanded impatiently.

"He had pictures of her on his phone," she whispered hesitantly. "Someone found out and reported it the Dean."

"Is that all?" I barked with a relieved laugh, thinking of all the snapshots people had brought to the funeral to add to the tribute board.

"Bella…I don't think you understand," Rachael murmured pityingly. "The pictures are…of a very _private_ and personal nature…she was…Oh God!" Rachael covered her eyes with her palms, hiding her face from me as she blurted out her confession. "She was naked…"

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><p><strong>Next update will be in two weeks.<strong>


	16. Smoke and Mirrors

**Thank you to StoryPainter and irelandk for their beta skills.**

**Many thanks also to my awesome pre-reader, Shazzio.**

**I was touched by the number of reviewers worried about Bella's health beginning to suffer under all the recent stress. So much maternal concern...such lovely ladies.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 16-Smoke and Mirrors<strong>

"_Bella…I don't think you understand," Rachael murmured pityingly. "The pictures are…of a very private and personal nature…she was…Oh God!" Rachael covered her eyes with her palms, hiding her face from me as she blurted out her confession. "She was naked…."_

Rendered temporarily speechless by Rachael's devastating revelation, I had lain on my bed wide-eyed and gaping like a fish. Rachael was so concerned that I'd suffered some sort of brain seizure that when I pulled myself together enough to notice, I saw she had her phone out ready to call nine-one-one. I immediately started yelling that she needed to get Jake over here, right NOW! Spooked by my freak-out, she stuttered that he was sitting in the car, having driven her over. I started screeching that she better go and fetch his ass right this minute before I really did have some kind of convulsion. If I weren't still so shocked, I would have laughed at the almost comical sight of her scrabbling abruptly to her feet and careening out of my room like a pack of werewolves were nipping at her heels.

Minutes later, I was sitting on the couch in our living room, a thick sweater and sweat pants hastily pulled over my pajamas. Rachael was perched next to me, her posture stiff and radiating her apprehension. In the armchair facing me was Jacob, his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying the weight of the world on them. Despite that, he looked twice as big as before, his huge and muscular frame crammed awkwardly into the confines of the delicate and overly feminine chintz-covered chair. Beneath the burnished color of his skin, he was pale and almost gray looking. His mouth was pulled down into a grimace, adding to the overall hangdog expression he was wearing like a shroud.

"I never meant to come out with it like that, Bella," Rachael uttered plaintively, apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time. "I should've just made a time for you and Jake to meet up later. You're still sick," she reasoned. "Maybe it would be better to do this another time."

I turned to look at her, and my outrage and incredulity must have been obvious since she flinched and looked away.

"We'll do this _now_. What did you think I'd say? 'Yeah, sure, Rach. Let's discuss how your teenage brother ended up with naked pictures of my dead mother tomorrow?'" My voice dripped with sarcasm, and even Jake shrunk in his chair at my cutting tone. I had narrowed my eyes so much, I was glaring through slits. "So, Jacob, why don't you explain to me just how that happened?"

"I told you before, it's not what everyone thinks," he stammered, looking both ill and terribly young all of a sudden. "I suppose Rachael didn't tell you, but I'd been getting into a bit of trouble," he disclosed reluctantly with a quick glance toward his sister. "Typical shit, mostly. You know: drinking, playing hooky, the occasional hit of hippie lettuce…"

I heard Rachael snort and Jacob stopped talking, glowering at her. I waved my hand impatiently to signal he should go on, not wanting to let their little squabble interfere.

"I flunked out of school and then got busted for something minor. The shit hit the fan and Dad laid down the law." He squirmed in his seat as if the memory of the chastisement was still relatively fresh. His father usually had a calm and unruffled nature, but when he did let loose, his temper was legendary.

"I got real mad and busted up a heap of stuff, but once I'd calmed down, I realized he was right," Jake admitted grudgingly.

"Yeah, only took you two months of sulking," Rachael's petulant voice added.

"Anyway, I'd always liked working in the rec center and gym on the rez. I talked with some of the staff there and decided I wanted to get into sports management and coaching. It meant I had to go back to school, and since I didn't want to go with the same dead shits that dropped me in it the first time, I started at the Port Angeles Community College instead of the one closer to home. That's how I met Renee." His expression became softer and he looked off into the distance, as if savoring an especially happy memory.

I huffed loudly, and he hastily returned his attention back to the conversation.

"I didn't even know she was your mom until after she died. I've known your dad forever, of course, from the rez, but I'd never met Renee before then." Jake's hands flexed repeatedly, curling around the arm rest of the chair in a nervous and fidgety gesture.

It was possible. Mom and Dad had only lived together for such a short time, and many years ago, at that. After the divorce, her trips to Forks were limited to dropping me off at my dad's, and I don't think she had ever ventured as far as the rez. I got my license after I moved in with Dad, and from then on drove back to visit her, negating any need for her to visit Forks at all.

"I was really behind at school after goofing off for so long, so they put me in all these make-up classes. Your mom taught the English one." Jake unclenched his hands from their death grip on the arm rests and wiped them down the leg of his jeans. "She was nice−really nice. She helped me, a lot, and I would often stay after class so she could talk me through stuff.

"When I had a major freak out about an upcoming test, she agreed to meet up with me outside of school for some extra study time. We started out meeting in the library, or sometimes at one of the local coffee shops. She ended up tutoring me with some of my other course work too. On the morning I had my test, she sent me a text to wish me luck," he said with a wistful note in his voice.

"After, I texted her back to let her know it went okay. It was nice, knowing someone cared about how it went," he confessed with a shrug. "I started texting her in between our tutoring sessions. It was really easy to talk to her about stuff. We talked about all kinds of things, not just school. She was always so encouraging, and sometimes it seemed like she was the only one who cared about all the shit I had to deal with…" He looked down at his lap, fidgeting with a loose thread on the edge of his shirt.

At that moment, he looked like nothing more than a lost little boy. I had to force myself to remember that despite his size, he was barely eighteen, a boy who had grown up without a mother. The car crash that killed her had left his dad in a wheelchair and unable to work. The lives and fortunes of the Black family had changed irrevocably after that. Although I had seen some of how it affected Rachael, I hadn't really thought much of what it had done to her brother. I felt a momentary pang of empathy.

"I guess I…I mean, I know it was stupid, but…" Jake squirmed in his chair before moving abruptly, leaning his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his huge hands. "It all sounds so dumb now," he muttered between his fingers. "I started to…think of her as more than just my teacher…" His voice was muffled and pained, and I could only imagine how embarrassing this was, not just admitting it out loud, but having to tell the daughter of the object of his infatuation. Scrubbing his face and emitting a sigh that sounded more like a groan, he dropped his hands back to rest on his legs and continued without meeting my eyes.

"The texts I sent got more…cheeky." His gaze flicked briefly toward his sister before skittering away.

Obviously, they had spoken at length before coming, and it seems to have given Jake some sort of insight into his behavior.

"I realize now that I was flirting with her. She would always reply, and sometimes I even managed to convince myself she was playing along." He paused for a while, as if thinking of what to say next. "It was all pretty innocent until that point, though. Then, about a month ago, I got a message that said something like 'If you show me yours, I'll show you mine.' I replied saying something like 'bring it on,' and then a picture hit my inbox…"

"Of my mom…naked," I guessed, gritting the words out between clenched teeth.

He nodded, looking everywhere but at me.

My mind boiled and whirred with an endless stream of questions. I felt angry and distraught; overwhelmed and shocked. All the emotion was taxing, twice as exhausting in my weakened state. This was not something I had ever contemplated having to deal with, and I felt ill equipped with how to manage the aftermath of this revelation.

Trying to put aside my emotions and think rationally, I knew I needed to find out some details about the picture before I could frame my next set of questions. I wasn't sure I was ready to get some sort of description from the horny teenager who had been doing God knows what to an intimate image of my mother. I turned to Rachael, hoping that maybe she could give me some answers without traumatizing my besieged sensibilities further.

"Did you see the pictures?" I probed, searching Rachael's face for any sign that she was trying to shield me from the truth.

"What? No!" She looked horrified at the thought, and I felt grateful for that small mercy, at least, even though I would now have to ask Jake my questions directly.

"Do you still have them?" I demanded of Jacob, my voice icy.

He hung his head.

"No. I kept them for a couple of days, but once the Dean dragged me into his office and started asking questions, I panicked and deleted everything. I denied the whole thing and refused to hand over my phone, but the damage had been done. I got transferred to another class and was told not to have any further contact with Renee. She was put on some sort of probation and there was going to be some big hearing."

"Did the Dean say he had copies?" I asked.

Jake seemed to shrink further into his chair.

"No, he didn't have copies of the pictures, but he had a transcript of the texts we sent that night. He wouldn't show them to me but he…ah…knew I had sent a picture back and…ah…shit!" He threw his head back and swallowed convulsively, moving restlessly on the chair. "He knew what I had been doing in the picture." His voice was a high pitched, nervous squeak.

My mind went blank for a minute as I caught the full implication of his words. I felt like I was reeling from one shock to another.

"So you're saying that after you got that picture, you sent one back. One of yourself and your…response… to what you had seen. Is that right?" I couldn't believe the conversation we were having, but I needed to be sure.

"Yes. After she sent me the picture, she text me back to ask what I thought about it. I sent one of me as my reply. She sent a second one back, one with a bit more−"

I waved my hand to cut him off. That, I didn't need spelled out.

"Just to be crystal clear," I asked tersely. "Was there any kind of physical relationship between you and my mom? Romantic or…," I could hardly bring myself to say the word, "sexual?"

Jake looked truly miserable as he answered my question.

"No, there wasn't. I thought after that there was, but I was wrong−so wrong! When I texted her the morning after, she phoned me straight away, confused by what I was going on about. She was horrified, and said she hadn't sent me anything. She said she hadn't used her phone at all the night before. She wanted to know what was going on and when hinted at what I thought we had done together, she started crying." Jake gulped and his eyes got shiny with gathering tears that he furiously blinked away. "She said she couldn't get away that day, but we made a time to meet up the next. She wanted to see them−the pictures. She said no one had ever taken photos of her like that. I was really worried about her. She was so upset."

"Who wouldn't be upset?" Rachael interjected. "Imagine a student bragging about the fun he apparently had sexting you when you had no idea what had happened."

"What happened after that?" I couldn't stand any more delays while those two bickered.

"We never got to see each other," he said, his head bowed. "The next day was when the Dean cornered me. I deleted the pictures and was banned from any sort of contact with her. I ignored the order since I really needed to talk to Renee myself, to find out just where all the shit went wrong. I tried texting, and when that didn't work, I tried to get notes to her, both at school and at home. I just got into more trouble and got sent to the school psychologist."

I wasn't surprised. It sounded almost like stalking, and the college hierarchy would have wanted to prevent any potential cover up by either Jake or my mom.

"After about two weeks of going out of my mind, I found a note shoved in the pocket of one of my jackets I had accidently left behind after class. Renee must have slipped it in there. It was really brief and basically said she had been set up and hadn't done that stuff that night. She said she was being blackmailed by someone, and she needed my SIM card out of my phone to prove it. She told me where to hide it so she could find it and instructed me to destroy the note. I did as she asked, and she left me a new prepaid one to replace it. And then…" He halted, his face pasty white and blank.

"And then, what?" I whispered, knowing but needing to hear what he was going to say next.

"She died!" he wailed, tears oozing from his eyes. "I left it for her, and then she did…that…to herself! Killed herself! I got her into trouble with all that fucked up shit, and I didn't even get to say I was sorry," he sobbed, covering his face again with his huge hands.

Rachael sprung to his side and threw her arm around his shoulders.

"She never got to clear her name. She was always so good to me, and I screwed it up. Before that night, she was always professional and nothing more…even when I wanted her to be and tried to push things that way. I was a selfish, deluded asshole…"

I closed my eyes, his grief too much to bear in the face of my own. I tried desperately to think, the sounds of Jacob crying an unwelcome distraction.

So, photographs of my mother had apparently been sent from her number to a student without her knowledge. Someone had then reported the supposed inappropriate relationship with a student to Mom's employer, who had somehow gotten ahold of transcripts of the texts and the picture Jacob had sent to Mom's phone. Mom had told Jacob she was being blackmailed, and had gotten his SIM card to get to the bottom of the matter, but had died before anything could come of it.

How convenient. I wondered where the SIM card was now.

Something Jake said tickled my conscience. Mom had said she never took any pictures of that nature.

"Jacob, tell me something. Are you sure the photos were of my mom?"

Jake sniffed and swiped at his nose.

"Well, in the first one, her face was turned away." He frowned in concentration as he thought back. "The hair was definitely hers, though."

My gasp had him scrambling to correct himself. "Not that hair! Shit, she was lying on a bed on her front, so I didn't see any of her…um. Besides, I recognized her rings."

Mom's engagement ring was quite distinctive. It had a large ruby with smaller diamonds on either side. Ruby was her birth stone, and I remembered how much she had gushed over Phil knowing that detail when he chose her ring before surprising her with the proposal.

I thought more about what Jake had just said.

"What about the other picture? Was she looking at the camera, or was her face hidden?" It didn't sound like the first one was posed, and I wondered if she had even known someone was taking it.

"She was on her side and her head was kinda buried in the pillows." Jake's voice became wistful again and his gaze drifted away. "There was a sheet covering some of her but not her−"

I cleared my throat loudly and rolled my eyes. Jake had the decency to look slightly sheepish and muttered an embarrassed apology. I had always thought the phrase "needing brain bleach" was overused, but watching Jake slip into his little private fantasy was more than I could deal with.

I wanted to be angry and disgusted with his behavior, but I felt more resigned than anything. Jake genuinely seemed to care for her, and had done his best to protect her after the Dean confronted him, no matter how misguided his actions had been. Here he was, confessing his shameful secrets to help clear her reputation, which had taken a lot of guts. Although he had been foolish and reckless letting his crush override his common sense, I was beginning to think he had been just as much a victim in this cruel and vicious deception. Someone had known or guessed his feelings and had used them in a scheme to discredit and perhaps blackmail Mom. In both pictures sent to Jake's phone, she had been in bed with her face obscured, which meant she had not wanted her picture taken or her identity clear. I was leaning more toward the theory that she hadn't even been aware someone had taken the pictures, and may indeed have been asleep.

The pictures had to have been taken by Phil. Who else would have been around when she was so vulnerable, lying naked and possibly asleep in her own bed?

The phone. Mom's phone was at the center of this cluster fuck. Someone had used her phone to tease and entrap Jacob, who had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. They had then tipped off and provided copies to the college, but seemingly minus the incriminating pictures of Mom.

It was hard not just to point a finger at Phil for the whole thing. If he _had_ done it, he certainly wouldn't have wanted the images of mom handed over to anyone. Something made me pause though.

Mom had wanted a divorce. If she had any suspicion or proof that Phil had been involved in such an underhanded and appalling ruse, she would have had abundant grounds to lay criminal charges and force the divorce. She could have gotten everything: the boys, the house, a huge financial settlement, and probably some sort of monetary compensation as the victim of extortion.

That made me think it might have been someone else, someone with access to her phone.

Although Mom was generally an organized person, she had a habit of leaving her phone lying unattended almost anywhere. Phil used to have great fun updating her Facebook status with statements like "I'm married to the smartest and sexiest man ever," and, memorably, once "I eat farts for breakfast." It wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility that someone had swiped it for a while, especially if she had been drinking heavily and was otherwise distracted. They may not have even needed to be in the house with her; she could just as well have left it behind somewhere and not missed it for a few hours.

Then there was the chance that someone had added or used some sort of spyware to route texts through Mom's phone. I wasn't exactly sure how something like that was done, just that it was a possibility. For anyone with the knowledge and cunning, there were all kinds of legally available surveillance tools undetectable to the technologically ignorant.

I needed to get a copy of Mom's phone records.

Jake's voice interrupted my mental deliberations.

"Do you think she was being blackmailed? That makes sense, right? That could be the reason she felt miserable enough to end it, right?" His voice was almost begging. "I didn't even think of what could happen to her when I sent the picture. I mean, I knew she could get into deep shit if anyone found out, but I thought that if I didn't tell, we'd be safe. It was just a bit of fun between her and me. I was just…caught up in the thrill of it…I never expected…" The look on his face reminded me how I felt every time I thought about the last phone conversation I had with my Mom.

Guilty.

The look was enough for me to let go of my earlier anger toward Jake altogether.

"I don't think my mom would have sent pictures like that to anyone, and especially not by phone," I found myself saying. This belief resonated deeply within me. Why would a responsible and devoted mother of two young boys risk everything by instigating the exchange of intimate and potentially incriminating photos with a barely legal and impressionable student under her tutelage? It just seemed too far out of character for her, even with the recent changes in her behavior from the various stressors she was dealing with. Jake, being a typical, horny, egocentric teenager hadn't even questioned that. Instead, he had acted like the archetypical male and thought with the wrong head.

"I don't think she even knew someone had taken them," I explained. "I don't know exactly what was going on, but I think there _was _something. Someone else may have been involved, and I'm looking into that." I didn't want to tell him all the details of the investigation Edward and I were conducting, but he needed to know that I took my mother's suspicions of foul play seriously. The last thing I needed was him setting off on his own vigilante campaign.

"Thanks for having the guts to tell me everything, Jake." I said, struggling off the couch. "I think I need to go lie down again." Now that I had heard all I needed to, I wanted this to be over. I was bone-weary, and my head was beginning to ache again after all the turmoil of our conversation. Jake was on his feet like a shot, clearly relieved to be sent packing. I walked them to the front door, politely rejecting Jacob's outstretched hand but tempering my refusal with a valid excuse.

"You don't want my germs to make you sick," I said in a conciliatory tone.

Rachael ignored my warning and enveloped me in a crushing hug.

"I'm going to be home for the whole week, so watch out, Swan," she warned. "I'll be dropping by to check on you."

Once they were gone, I straightened up downstairs and made sure there was no sign of their visit. Alice was having dinner with her folks. Tonight was the first time Phil was joining them. Even though I wouldn't have gone anyway, it was handy to have the excuse of my illness, and very timely, considering the nature of what my guests had disclosed. Hopefully, Alice would be too preoccupied with how things went there to pay attention to any residual oddness in my behavior if I was still awake when she got home. I just wasn't ready to share details of the investigation with her, or anyone else, until I had something firm and incriminating to proceed with. Even though I had spilled some of the details to Rachael, I only gave her a very sketchy overview, and she would only be home for a little while before leaving on her next assignment.

I returned upstairs to the warmth of my bed, dragging my laptop off the desk and powering it up. Propping myself up with pillows, I didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that Edward hadn't been by my side through the whole experience. I hadn't even thought to call him, too shaken to think past getting some sort of immediate explanation. I'm sure I had missed asking some pertinent and revealing questions. However, I was satisfied by how I had done in view of the fact it was a monumental scandal involving my all-too-recently deceased mother.

Opening up good old Google, I typed in my query.

_How to get someone's cell phone records._

I wasn't surprised by the number of suggestions, but was shocked by the fact that so many were legal. Apparently, the easiest way was to simply contact the phone company and ask. As long as you had some kind of familial relationship with the person, knew their phone number, and could supply details like their date of birth, address, and social security number, the records were yours. Some of the less trustworthy sites even recommended that if that approach didn't work, to wait a few days and call back, claiming to be the person. Of course, the phone company would record details of whom they disclosed the information to. I could see that this might pose a potential problem if Phil or the police found out I'd been poking around in Mom's private business for no discernable reason.

A more appealing and anonymous option was using an online investigation company. For a sizable fee, they promised to provide the required records in less than twenty four hours. Fishing my credit card out of my purse, I filled in the required fields. After a brief moment of contemplation, I picked up my phone and scrolled through the phone index for a rarely used number. I had to wrack my brain for his birth date, but managed to recall it eventually. Filling in the online form to request a second search, I paid for access to Phil's private mobile phone records as well.

Shutting down and putting away my laptop, I flopped back on my bed, satisfied that I had answers to some of my questions, at least, and by tomorrow, I might have even more. Running back over the things Jake had told me, I was relieved all over again that my mother had not been actively involved in any kind of secret affair with him. I felt sad when I thought of how much she had been carrying on her own. The situation with Phil was bad enough, but to have been implicated in such a scary and messy blackmail plot defied all logic. That someone would do that spoke of a very depraved character; someone who had little regard not just for my mother, but also the potential effects the fall out would have had on innocent bystanders like my brothers.

As I settled under the blankets preparing to go to sleep, my last thought was that all I could do now was to lie back and see what cards I was dealt next.


End file.
